Frozen
by HanaSheralHaminail
Summary: "Ka'i." I'm right here. Jim hoped the pronunciation was at least adequate. "Tushah nash-veh k'du." I grieve with thee. Right there, right then it seemed to Spock as if the Captain's use of Vuhlkansu had brought a significant change to how he perceived him; as if it held some kind of meaning he couldn't quite place. Set after Star Trek Beyond! T for language, mostly. [Kirk Spock]
1. Chapter 1 Conceal, don't feel

**_AN:_** _Hello, everyone! This is my first fiction on and in this fandom! Please be nice! The story is set after Star Trek Beyond (please note!) thus there will be minor (or major) spoilers of all the reboot movies! I have a fairly good idea as to where I want to go with this, and I hope I'll get the characters right! Also, I'm a huge Spirk fan, so that's what you have to expect when reading this... It'll be somewhat slow build, but there_ will _be Spirk, t'hy'la and all. (I just might have been watching Frozen when thinking about this... the songs truly are inspiring)_

 _Please enjoy!_

 ** _1_**

 ** _Conceal, don't feel_**

He had never found himself in the embarrassing situation of having to fear lunch: to have lunch was, fairly simply, the most immediate way of acquiring the amount of nourishment necessary to sustain his body functions. It was _logical_. It was coherent. Especially considering that he, being a Vulcan, _logically_ harboured no personal preference when it came to food, so he had no problem whatsoever handling the poorly tasting meals provided by the replicator. Thus, _logic_ dictated lunch to be uneventful and irrelevant. And yet, three point six-seven years into the _Enterprise_ 's five-year mission, lunch had indeed become a somewhat uncomfortable, even threatening experience, when he dealt with it alone.

Spock silently set a plate on a table right into the quietest corner of the mess -and the closest to the door- and looked down at his vegetarian soup as if attempting to dissect it with his mind; such an attempt was futile, though, as he knew perfectly well its contents and their properties. Perhaps, then, he was searching for something that would distract him from the general chatter of the humans surrounding him.

He found it sadly amusing that, while they never failed to point out just how _alien_ he was to them, they often forgot he could easily overhear their noise, due to his Vulcan senses. Sometimes he caught himself wishing he couldn't -wishing, that was bad. It led to emotion and possible breakdown. Such an urge had to be stopped, cast away deep down his mind where it would not disturb him. And stop it he did, taking a spoonful of soup and relishing in the warmth spreading down his throat and into his body: it was secretly soothing, as it reminded him of home, of the blissful heat that had once belonged to his lost planet. And as much as he now regarded the starship as some sort of surrogate home, he constantly felt cold there.

He relaxed minutely and kept eating quickly, focusing on the experiment he was currently working on in the labs, one he was also forbidden to tend to because he was supposed to be on _medical leave_. After the latest mission the Captain had been quite unable to perform duty, so Spock had taken the whole of his tasks upon himself and, as Doctor McCoy had hissed at him not 6.9 hours before, he had "worked his green-blooded body into exhaustion".

Had he been fully human, he probably would have sighed: thanks to his _friend_ 's uncalled for concern, he was facing an unproductive day away from the bridge (and Alpha shift, _and_ Alpha crew, also known as the only group of Terrans to understand and tolerate his presence), the labs and anywhere else worth being on the Enterprise. And if _Bones_ -as the Captain enjoyed calling the grumpy man- discovered he had done something other than "getting one hell of a well-deserved rest" during his leave, he was sure to end up tied on a bed in sickbay, as illogical as that would be.

Deciding upon using his free time for some desperately needed meditation, he finished his lonely meal and got up, heading for the safety of his warmer quarters. He tried to move as fast as possible while remaining perfectly dignified, but that didn't prevent him from hearing the venomous comments shot at his retreating back by a pair of ensigns passing him by.

"Just 'cause he's smarter than us common mortals doesn't mean he's a freakin' _God_!"

"Pointy-eared hobgoblin has no value for _human_ life…"

Discarding these comments as illogical and ill-willed, Spock squared his shoulders and walked on.

 _Too Vulcan to be with humans_.

* * *

Emotions are highly dangerous and must be kept in check. This he learns on a hot afternoon while listening to his parents argue over his Vulcan education and the Vulcan bullies that treat him, to say it with the humans, "like shit".

He is not liked amongst his peers. He is not even expected to live: no one -not his flawless father, nor the distant, uncaring Healers, nor his sweet, over affectionate mother- seems to realise what damage such a knowledge can do to a six-year-old child, but of course he's expected to be perfectly in control of his feelings by now.

He is not.

He dreads the day when he will look into his mother's eyes to see her crying and begging for him not to die (illogical, yet still heart-warming); he values every single moment he spends with her, lets her hold him regardless of what he's supposed to do, sometimes (albeit rarely) holds her back, careful of not breaking her fragile body, seeks out her company whenever he can, going as far as requesting her presence while meditating. Living with a human certainly has affected him in ways that are both enormously frightening and oddly comforting; he is conflicted, he is torn, he is unbecoming and indecorous and _does not belong_.

His eyes are wet but he can't shed tears: _I am a Vulcan. I am a Vulcan. I must be. It is my chosen path. I am not allowed to feel._

Yet he does feel: he feels unwelcome and he feels inappropriate.

He takes in a deep, steadying breath and pushes down the waves of emotion so that they will not be visible but for the depth of his wide, too-human eyes. He has long learned that he must not feel. Failing that, he will conceal.

He will prove himself not only worthy, but better of any other of his peers; he will make them see he is part of their world thus reducing their deliberate mocking into a series of illogical, meaningless assumptions.

Facts will provide evidence that the world is wrong, and he is right. Spock is a Vulcan. A Vulcan, nothing less.

* * *

As he walked down the corridors in order to get to sickbay and _demand_ a reduction of his medical leave, he was intercepted by Uhura, who had apparently ended her shift early. He felt a rush of fondness wash over him as he approached her swiftly to take a place by her side, and gifted her with his best _I'm a Vulcan and won't show emotions but I hold you in high value so my eyes will warm up just infinitesimally_ look.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant," he greeted, lifting upwards the corners of his mouth and waiting for her to smile in return. When all she did was awkwardly stare at the sterilized floor, the Vulcan quirked an eyebrow at her in a wordless question: _Is something wrong, Nyota?_

The woman sighed heavily, brushing her fingers through her silky dark hair and sliding a loose strand behind her ear, and Spock's sharp eyes followed closely that uncharacteristic display of nervousness, trying to understand her motives. "Nyota?" he prompted after 2.13 minutes of tense silence.

"We have to talk, Spock," she said, grimacing, then she stopped walking altogether and stood facing him gravely.

"That is… precisely what we are doing, Nyota," he murmured, confused. He was starting to get an unpleasant feeling -which was rare and never, ever good.

Uhura bit on her lower lip, lifting her hands slowly to gently brush his forearms in a gesture she knew to be relaxing to the Vulcan. "Look, Spock: we cannot fix the unfixable."

"Quite a logical statement, if not a little out of contest," was all he could answer; his brain was busy coming up with a million possible ways to read and interpret her declaration, and a million possible ways to react accordingly. Perhaps a serious malfunction had occurred to the ship's engines and they were trapped in the middle of nowhere? Somehow, that didn't seem likely.

Once more, she sighed, then finally gave him a tiny, rueful smile and tapped a foot on the floor with a loud clack that, had he been anyone else, he would have deemed ominous. "Just the fact that you want us to be together doesn't mean we should."

Spock cocked his head to the side and automatically took a step back to distance himself from the woman who was going to bring forward the fifth terrible blow of his life (the first and second being the disappearance of his planet and his mother, the third Admiral Pike's murder and the fourth his Captain's almost death). His eyes, face and countenance became significantly colder, as if to reaffirm his position: _I am a Vulcan. I shall not submit to human emotions._

The communications officer shook her head swiftly and her dark ponytail cut the air with a sharp, hissing sound. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, Spock, really."

"I… do not doubt that," he whispered, nodding slowly, completely at a loss on what to say. _I doubt myself and my ability to form long lasting relationships with beings different than my own mother._

"Listen, Spock, it's never been a bed of roses, between you and me…" Uhura shifted uneasily at the sight of his evident (well, evident for her) discomfort, but she was certain she was doing the right thing, for both of them. "You can't make me happy, Spock. And I sure as hell can't make _you_ happy."

"Happiness can be vastly misinterpreted," he muttered, attempting to keep his rapidly building emotions from showing; he was torn between the need to retaliate and the urge to apologise. "And it is up to me to decide whether or not you can make me _happy_."

Nyota brought a hand up to caress her temples. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you but it's just not… working."

"There is no need for explanations." The Science Officer was now wearing the coldest of his poker faces (the name being a courtesy of his Captain), ever the calm and collected Vulcan. "If it is your decision, I shall not force myself upon you."

The woman dipped her head, seemingly lost in thought, then raised it almost immediately to look him in the eyes; her expression was one of sorrow, mixed with affection and regret. After 0.75 seconds of stillness, she declared: "It is my decision."

"Then live long and prosper, Lieutenant Uhura." The alien's voice was, if possible, even icier than usual, leaving no room for any kind of feeling -yet he was well aware he was going to require a generous amount of meditation in order to _get over this one_ , as his Captain would say.

" _Ni'droi'ik nar-tor_." Again, an apology. "I wish you the best, Spock." She was sincere, that much was clear, nonetheless he refused to acknowledge her politeness, choosing instead to reply with a harsh: "Wishing is illogical."

"Of course." She turned on her heels, walking away with her brisk grace, proud and strong and human. He could not help but call her back: "How have I failed you, Lieutenant?" he asked. It was almost a plea, and he flinched internally: he was disgracing himself and his name with that question, with that blatant display of disappointment if not pain.

She smiled gently and he found he suddenly couldn't stand the look of pity (because it was pity, wasn't it?) that was painted all over her pretty face: "You have not failed me, Spock," she assured him before leaving, "I simply asked too much of you."

He understood her meaning perfectly, but failed to see how it was in any way different.

 _Too Vulcan to be with Nyota_.

* * *

Spock decided that perhaps going back on the bridge wasn't what he needed most at the moment, so he submitted to the CMO's admittedly logical orders and moved to withdraw into his quarters. He had, after all, an impressive amount of paperwork and research to finish before the start of the next mission, in 14.08 hours, and he would be safer from McCoy's inquisitive eyes if secluded in his room. (It wasn't as if he'd be lying or pretending; the doctor would simply make his own assumptions that he was asleep or meditating and leave him be. Sometimes it served him well to be James Kirk's friend.)

He wondered if it was to become a habit when this time he was interrupted by none other than his Captain in person. "Spock! Hey, Spock, wait up!" He flew at him as a golden tornado, blue eyes alight in worry, and managed to slip inside the turbolift before the door could slide completely close.

"Captain," he murmured stiffly, not at all in the mood for social interaction.

For once, Jim did not correct his choice to address him by his rank and not his first name; he grimaced -a sympathetic expression- and lightly patted his shoulder twice. "Uhura told me…" he explained, preventing him from inquiring. "She… uh… seemed to think you'd need help? Company? Shoulder to cry on?" He chuckled at that, shrugging a bit sheepishly, and made another face -different from before, a curious combination of annoyance, humour and concern, if Spock wasn't mistaken. "And don't give me that 'Vulcans do not cry' look. You know what I mean."

"No, as a matter of fact, I do not." The First Officer stepped quickly out of the elevator, willing his Captain to understand that the only thing he desired at the moment was privacy. He was also more than a little irritated by Nyota's -the Lieutenant's- decision to confide to the boisterous, mischievous human such personal matters, yet he found it slightly appeasing to have him _run to the rescue_ (an expression he had recently learned) and try and _cheer him up_ (this one was old; it had been one of his mother's favourites) so soon, as if he had nothing better to do.

"As a matter of fact you do perfectly well, and I _know_ it." Jim crossed his arms and frowned deeply at him, wrinkling his nose a little; as per usual, he was conveying a large variety of different messages through the way he walked and gestured, but by then the Vulcan was quite adept at reading him, and focused on his eyes and words. "Seriously, though. How are you feeling?"

"I do not feel, Captain." _And if I do, I conceal_.

Kirk immediately backtracked, lifting his hands to show empty palms: "I get it, I get, wrong question!" He laughed softly so he would see he wasn't angry at him (he had noticed Spock had a knack for taking things too personally and _way_ too literally). " _Jee_ , you're so stiff I bet your spine's gonna crack! My back hurts just by looking at you!"

Spock lifted an eyebrow very slowly, wearing what the Captain seemed fond of referring to as the _you're too illogical to be allowed and we are both well aware of that_ face. "Indeed. I would suggest a visit to sickbay. I believe the doctor will be only too happy to relieve you of your pain with a Hypo or two."

He watched as Jim flinched at the thought. "I spent the best part of last week in sickbay, thank you very much!" he lamented, "I'm totally _sick_ of that damned place! Pun not intended."

When they reached Officers' Deck, the alien proceeded to make his way to his own quarters, but the Captain caught his arm in a firm grip and planted himself in front of the door. " _No_ you're not going there alone to sulk about your sorry Vulcan ass."

"Vulcans do _not_ sulk," hissed Spock, finally losing his patience and letting a tiny bit of control slip. "Vulcans do, however, meditate. In peace and loneliness and _quiet_."

"Whatever you wish to call it, Spock, you're still not going." Jim presented him with his best grin, pressing both hands on his shoulders in an attempt to steer him away. "What you need now is some good old distraction."

"Forgive me, Captain, but I have to disagree." Once again he caught himself in the curious situation of wondering when exactly he had given this particular human permission to touch him so freely and why by the name of Surak he was unwilling to break the contact. "What I require now is meditation." A good amount of meditation.

Jim was not one to surrender so easily: "Spock, stop being so damn difficult. Look, I understand -I totally do. So let me help you, ok? Fancy a game of chess before dinner?"

"I _do_ need meditation."

"Trust me on this one, please? You need to think about something other than your terrible, heart-breaking split-up with your three-year-now-ex-girlfriend." Kirk said sternly. "Besides, I am under the impression that 'Vulcans do not drink alcohol nor do they participate in any similarly infatuating activity that would result in a loss of control'. Am I correct?"

"Correct, Captain."

He smirked. "Thus, chess."

Spock thought about his suggestion. "Your logic is sound," he conceded after 12.04 seconds. "I shall accept your offer."

"Good."

* * *

As the Captain set the pieces across the tri-dimensional board, the Vulcan stood unmoving behind a chair, waiting for the human to give him permission to sit; after a good 2.36 minutes of disbelieving staring and a strong "Don't be preposterous,", though, Spock settled down in front of his friend, still frozen, still waiting. For what, he wasn't sure.

Jim gave him a fleeting look that he couldn't place, then his whole face lit up with a grin as he pushed the chessboard towards him: "White's on you this time," he declared, snapping his fingers. "I'm gonna win anyway," he added, nodding smugly and waiting for the witty remark that was sure to follow.

But his First Officer stayed quiet, sliding a pawn forward with just the tip of his finger, and never once raised his dark eyes to meet his questioning gaze. _Shit. He's turning into a stone… he must be very compromised if he's willing to let me make my 'illogical assumptions' without comment_. He sighed.

"So, Spock. How about I get you something to eat from the replicator? Or a tea? Would you like a tea?" He was starting to feel a little nervous at the sight of the all-too-stiff Vulcan, who appeared to be retreating deep into his own mind (which, as Bones had not-so-graciously explained, was never good aside from meditation. It meant either physical collapse or emotional breakdown. Not a sight he wanted to witness the evening before the start of an away mission.) "Hey, Spock. Tea?"

Finally, Spock raised his head, lifting a rook to place it _in lieu_ of Jim's bishop. " _Nan_ ," he said, recalling the Captain had expressed a wish to learn his native language. _Check_. "You are fretting," he stated calmly. "There is no need."

"No need?" Kirk laughed openly at that, steering his Queen away from danger with a fluid motion, then he unexpectedly jumped to his feet. "Did you even hear my question?" he demanded, leaning towards him and resisting the urge to grasp his chin and _make_ him listen. Invading his personal space was definitely not the best way to approach a _non_ -grieving Vulcan. Spock blinked at his sudden proximity, yet he made no attempt to retreat, and simply shook his head no: he had no idea what the Captain had asked him. Maybe something about the incoming away mission?

"Would you like some tea, Spock?" Jim repeated patiently, smiling in a vain attempt to lure the other into relaxing. "From the replicator?"

The First Officer swallowed a little too awkwardly for his usual collected behaviour, but his eyes _did_ warm up by a degree. "That would be… most welcome, thank you." Again, he focused the whole of his attention (or lack thereof) on the board.

"Forget chess," muttered the Captain, crossing the room quickly. "Go sit on the couch." He flinched slightly when Spock simply got up and followed his order without complaint, yet he restrained himself from commenting and moved to sit by his side.

"Here," he murmured as he handed him the hot tea, putting extra care into avoiding contact with the Vulcan's sensible fingers. "You look miserable. I know it's hard, but don't worry: you'll get over it."

The alien breathed into the spiced scent of the tea -so much, too much like home- and stretched his mouth into a tight line. "I should _not_ look miserable. As a Vulcan my emotions should not be visible to the world. It is…" he paused half a second to meet his Captain's blue eyes, then whispered, so low it was barely audible: " _Disgraceful_."

"So what? You're showing emotions, big deal!" Kirk's laughter filled the room again, but before Spock could even begin to think he was laughing _at_ him, the human elaborated: "I'm no Vulcan. I don't judge. You know I'll never judge, don't you?"

He nodded, feeling some of his tension ease away with Jim's carefree grin, and decided he could, after all, afford to lean his back against the couch.

"So now tell me: how do you feel?" The question was warm and gentle and caring; he realised the superior officer had inched towards him, almost closing the distance between them, in a very human wish to convey physical reassurance. He couldn't bring himself to mind.

"I… do not know."

Slowly, very slowly, just enough that he could choose to withdraw if he so wanted, the Captain wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing lightly. "It's f…" he caught himself before he could say 'fine', not wanting to offend his Vulcan sense of logic, and said instead: "It doesn't matter. It's ok if you don't have an answer."

Spock closed his eyes, going so far as to lean against him. (The human was warm and it was only logical to search relief from the Enterprise's cold environment.) Kirk stilled completely. He was reminded of his childhood in Iowa, when sometimes a bird would land on the palm of his hand and he would hold his breath until once again it sore through the sky: he was as much afraid to move as if the Vulcan had been a wild animal that he could easily scare away.

A heavy silence filled the room, and long after it was the alien who broke it, speaking slowly and softly. "There are 13.37 hours left until tomorrow." he stated, folding his hands in his lap and lowering his head. "Tomorrow is…"

"I know what tomorrow is." _The anniversary of the destruction of Vulcan. Four years now since all he's ever called home was lost to the void_. Jim stared at his First Officer's unmoving form, searching his brain for the right words to say: " _Ka'i_." _I'm right here._ He hoped the pronunciation was at least adequate. " _Tushah nash-veh k'du_." _I grieve with thee_.

Heaving a small, almost non-existent sigh, Spock opened his eyes again, offering a weary look that somehow managed to be full of soul-deep gratitude. " _Th'i-oxalra, t'hai'la_." _I thank you, my friend_. And right there, right then it seemed to him as if the Captain's use of _Vuhlkansu_ had brought a significant change to how he perceived him; as if it held some kind of meaning he couldn't quite place.

Jim smiled gently and kept his unusually collected demeanour -it was crystal clear that he was carefully keeping himself in check just for his sake, and it was, indeed, a much appreciated gesture. "As I said, it's hard, but you'll get over it. Eventually. It takes time; it'll feel like betrayal, it'll feel like you can't breathe; you'll believe there are nothing but dead ends waiting for you. But you _will_ get over it, this much I assure you."

 _How can you be so certain?_ This he wanted to ask, but something in his Captain's eyes -a hard, barren light he had never seen- prevented him from speaking; instead he listened to the human's heart beating that was the only sound filling the otherwise silent quarters. He thought he understood what physical reassurance was: proof of life, proof of care and trust, wordless promise of help and sympathetic kindness. He lingered there for a while, basking in this new discovery that was both logical and simple, then he gently disentangled himself from his friend's embrace and took his leave, dismissing dinner as not necessary.

He stopped by the door and turned in time to see Kirk sprawl on the couch, stretching arms and legs like a cat; some part of him (the human part, no doubt) wanted to laugh at the sight, and sure enough the corners of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile. "Thank you, Jim," he said again, for once not bothered by the illogical action of repeating himself.

Jim gave him a very solemn look: "Anytime, Spock." It did sound like a vow. Then the moment was over, and the Captain was suddenly standing in front of him: "Listen, how about dinner?"

" _No_."

"Come on! Don't Vulcans eat, too?"

" _No_."

Spock hurried away before the human managed to coerce him into joining Alpha shift at the mess, followed by Kirk's chiming, good-natured mirth.

* * *

"You know, that was damn perfect timing, Uhura!" The Captain exclaimed, chewing on a potato chip and slumping down on a chair between McCoy and the Lieutenant. " _Really_? Did it have to be today?"

"Sorry, Kirk," she muttered, offering him an apologetic look, "I didn't realise it was this close. I lost track of time…"

Jim curled his lips in a half-snarl, almost ready to snap at her, but was interrupted by the Doctor, who was angrily picking into his plate. "You _idiot_ ," he hissed, "What happened to the healthy diet I prescribed?"

"Bones, please, not now!" whined Kirk, shielding his greasy, mayonnaise-filled burger from his friend's furious glare. "It's been a week since I've actually ate some _real_ food! Shoo!"

" _Shoo_?" McCoy bellowed, welling up with sheer outrage: "I'll give you shoo when you have a heart attack!" he threatened, stabbing his chest with a menacing finger.

" _You're_ gonna give me a heart attack," mumbled the Captain under his breath, inching away from the incoming storm.

Thankfully, Chekov chose that particular moment to show up, carrying a tray of food which he promptly set down next to a laughing Uhura. "Keptin! Ze doctor iz angry at you again, yes?"

"When is he not?" chuckled Sulu, all but flinging himself on a chair and huffing in exhaustion. He stifled a yawn before leaning against the Russian, who somehow managed to hide a blush and started eating quickly.

"So, Jimmy." McCoy turned towards his friend, ignoring the snickering passing around the table, and kept a serious face as he regarded the youngest Captain of Starfleet. "What am I to expect? Tomorrow? The away mission that'll sure turn into mayhem? Ring a bell?"

Jim shook his head in mock misery: "Bones. What did we say about taking care of the crew's morale?" he reprimanded, patting the CMO on his shoulder with a resounding _clap_.

Leonard growled, contemplating the consequences of murder in cold blood. "I don't give a rat's ass about crew morale when it comes to your safety, fool."

"Aw, just relax, Bones! It's a _diplomatic_ away mission. Lots of boring _bla-bla_. Spock'll be there and it'll go fine! We'll be fine!"

The good Doctor was positively appalled. " _'Spock'll be there.'_ You say it as if it's supposed to be safety warrant or something!"

"Well it is, actually!" Kirk crossed both arms and legs and looked at Uhura for back up.

Preventing the Lieutenant from making what was sure to be a sarcastic remark, McCoy got up and slapped the back of Jim's golden head. "You might be under the delusion that the green-blooded scientist is some kind of magician, but I know better. He's as much of a fool as you are, if not more."

That surprised a gasp out of Sulu, who jerked up and awake in the blink of an eye and gaped at the Medical Officer. "What?"

"I'll go get sickbay ready for the two of you. I have a feeling I'll have to patch you up. Again." With a death scowl that made everyone but the Captain flinch, Bones left the mess. "My Tricorder's started calling you idiots by your first names…" he grumbled darkly.

"There you go!" James Kirk clapped his hands and grinned down at his Alpha crew, "If anything goes wrong tomorrow, it's his fault, not mine! He jinxed it!"

 **AN** : _Me again! I hoped you liked this first chapter! I think that went well... Please note that I'm not native English! If any of you natives has something to point out, I will be happy to learn!_

 _Also, for the use of the term "T'hai'la" instead of "T'hy'la": I read on the Vulcan Language Dictionary that the first is used to define a friend or brother, while the second is the iconic friend, brother, lover. With this story, I want them to grow from t'hai'la to t'hy'la!_

 _All Vulcan words taken from the VLD ^_^_

 _Live long and prosper! (And please, do leave me a comment)_


	2. Chapter 2 A taste of downfall

_AN: I really did not believe I would be back so soon! I started writing this chapter yesterday and basically didn't stop until it was finished (except for sleeping, but not even that much...) So here we have Spock face his demons (I DO love this expression, oh yes) and Kirk helping him out, because he's an expert, what with his Tarsus IV experience... I really, really enjoyed myself with this! Also Bones was right, the away mission is totally gonna get screwed up! He jinxed it!_

 _Have fun!_

 ** _2_**

 ** _A taste of downfall_**

Spock paced restlessly about his quarters, trying to find a logical reason behind his fretting; everything was in its proper place, so why did he persist into moving his personal belongings this way and that? Why could he not find it in him to just sit quietly and wait for morning to come?

He grasped his PADD before setting it back on the desk -his work was done, completed, there was nothing more he had to do but collect himself and look presentable. He stared at the black meditation robes he was wearing and wondered if it made sense to cling to the customs and traditions of a non-existent planet, or if behaving as if nothing had changed was a sign of cowardice, of his fear of changing when he'd devoted his whole being into becoming the perfect Vulcan.

The First Officer shook his head in a too-human attempt to clear it: _It is not to be!_ He had 1.55 hours before the start of the mission and he must prepare if he wanted to survive it (and knowing his Captain, he also had to plan the unthinkable in order to get _him_ to survive). He needed to focus and _keep his cool_.

A buzz on his door was all it took to snap him out of his reverie, and soon enough he heard an enthusiastic voice calling his name: "You ready, Spock?" Had he ever been this grateful to hear James Kirk's voice?

"Captain. Are you amendable to waiting 3.5 minutes for me to change?" he asked, donning his scientific blues and retrieving PADD and tricorder from where he'd left them.

The Captain smiled at him as soon as he took his usual place by his side, and gestured towards the turbolift. "Breakfast?" he simply murmured, "I'm starved to death!"

"Of course." Spock agreed, making a point not to comment on the hyperbole the human had applied in a not-so-subtle attempt to irritate him. It was a habit commonly referred to as 'friendly teasing'.

In what had long become a familiar pattern, they walked together to the mess: it was fairly early, so they found it almost empty and quiet, much to the Vulcan's palpable relief. They sat together at a table next to the replicator, discussing the mission with soft voices; they were to descend on the nearest planet's surface and talk the inhabitants into joining the Federation -which had thankfully already made itself known to them on previous occasions. If things went according to plan, all they were going to do was shake a few hands (or whatever the people did to greet one another) and maybe offer some empty promises. Of course, things almost never went according to plan.

"So can you tell me something more about the natives that we don't already know?" Kirk questioned, replicating his second (or was it his third?) coffee and raising both eyebrows at his First Officer.

"Negative, Captain. There is little to no data available that describes the people and their customs; the only information we have reads thus: _their physical strength is far superior to that of a human or even a Vulcan, their pride they value above all things, and it is suspected they also have telepathic abilities_."

"Superior strength and telepathic abilities?" Jim smirked: "Why, don't they sound all nice and fluffy?" His restless fingers swept through his tray, and he absentmindedly piled his biscuits into a small heap before breaking it into pieces again.

"Fluffy, sir?" Spock blinked in confusion, regarding his Captain behind the hem of his cup of scalding tea. "I do not think…"

The human chuckled warmly: "Let it be, Spock, I was fooling around."

"Indeed." He focused on his breakfast.

"Hey, what is it you're eating, by the way?"

The Vulcan looked up in time to see Jim stretch across the table to examine the contents of his plate. "It is called _pir mah_. I believe it is similar to earth's strawberry toast," he explained, pleased by his evident interest and curiosity.

"May I?" Kirk hovered a fork just inches from the food, waiting for his permission which came in the form of a brief, somewhat baffled nod. "'T is _good_!" he approved after taking a generous bite out of the almost finished reddish pie. "I wasn't expecting that!"

"I sincerely hope you will not develop some kind of allergy." Spock said as an afterthought, recalling the frailties of this particular human's immune system. "The Doctor would gladly have, as you often put it, my head for it."

"Please _don't_ start thinking like Bones!"

"I assure you, Jim, that is not my intention."

* * *

The unknown planet's gravity was quite superior to standard earth, and it took Jim several minutes of highly uncomfortable stillness to get accustomed to the additional weight of the heavy, suffocating atmosphere; Spock, on the other hand, visibly relaxed, finding himself in an environment that was ridiculously familiar -the reddish brown sand, the rich, spicy taste of the air, the pale sky, the endless, powerful desert: it all reminded him of his home planet. He kneeled down next to his Captain, running a finger across the dry earth somewhat wistfully. "Breathe in slowly and deeply," he instructed, mindful of the human's evident distress. "Your body will adapt in precisely 7.95 minutes."

"Thank you," Kirk hissed, lifting himself up on his feet and taking a few, tentative steps; his movements were slightly more laboured, but all in all he decided he could go with it, so he silently encouraged his First Officer to follow him and started making his way towards what appeared to be a large city surrounded by thick wasps of greyish fog.

They had gone through at least half the distance when the Vulcan raised a hand in warning. "Captain, I suggest we take cover," he said, quite out the blue, "I believe we are being watched."

Immediately reacting to his friend's evident disquiet, Jim fell into a defensive position, bringing one hand down at his belt to lightly touch his phaser. Spock turned around so they were back to back, then activated his universal translator in the event that the natives were willing to communicate peacefully.

"I think it's only fair they are watching us," whispered Kirk, low enough that only he could hear, "After all, Starfleet announced us: they were waiting."

Spock's head snapped to the left and his eyes widened infinitesimally as he fought off and suppressed the sudden urge to growl at what his instinct deemed as a very dangerous threat. "We mean no harm," he called, tone carefully flat and inoffensive, "Please, do show yourselves."

In the blink of an eye they were surrounded by a group of tall, lean aliens: purple skin that resembled rippling water slithered around powerful, androgynous bodies covered in thin, close to transparent fabric; dark, sharp pupils and long fangs reminded him of a _sehlat_ , as did the claws decorating their twelve fingertips and the thick, lustrous fur gracing their strong backs. It appeared they were unarmed. "You will come with us- _h_." One of them commanded, staring down at the two officers with a calculating air about him -her? Them? "We will take you to _jh_ e Council."

"Very well," Kirk accepted easily, looking completely relaxed, "Lead us, if you please."  
He stepped closer to the stiff Vulcan by his side, leaning towards him to lightly murmur in his ear: "So they _do_ speak Standard. Do you think they are hostile?"

"I will admit to finding myself prone to making that assumption." He replied, still fully concentrated upon the aliens forcing them to an almost run across a barren street. There was an unpleasant tingle in the air, one that made him want to flinch, one that was not entirely unfamiliar yet he couldn't place… He caught the flash of a yellow stare upon him and quickly understood, his shock not showing at all on his perfectly emotionless face. _Telepaths_. He raised the entirety his mind shields rather brusquely, pushing away the foreign presences with something akin to fury and indignation -it was a terribly disgraceful act to make oneself privy to another's thoughts without consent.

Surreptitiously, he reached out to gently touch the back of his Captain's hand. Jim's mouth fell open with surprise, but he logically avoided speaking and waited for him to explain the unexpected gesture, trusting his judgement completely.

 _Permission to raise your mind shields, Captain._

Understanding dawned white into the human's colourful mindscape, and he offered him a grateful smile: ' _Granted'_.

So Spock proceeded to teach the inexperienced mind how to protect itself from danger, patiently impelling it to create a solid wall of hard will to block at least a sufficient number of mental attacks, guiding it when it crumbled and praising it when it stood high and vivid and unbreakable, admiring the strength and bold courage and fierce affection that was Jim; when he was satisfied with his work, the Vulcan withdrew, not wanting to pry on his privacy. _Do not speak out loud for now. I am worried_.

* * *

They stood waiting in the middle of an empty room. Jim looked quickly around in search of any possible way out: the window, perhaps too far high; a vent, better to avoid it at all cost; some sort of large pipe or duct, maybe the safest between the three; and then, of course, the door through which they had come in, probably dangerous. He motioned for Spock to position himself in front of the entrance of the hose, and he wordlessly complied, gaze unfocused as he listened to the sounds from the corridor.

"What kind of material do you think this is?" the Captain wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer (they had been stripped of their belts, now laying in a neat pile in the farthest corner of the room, unreachable as a sign of trust and similar diplomatic _shit_. The Vulcan's tricorder was right on top of the heap.)

He was surprised when his Science Officer replied promptly: "Volcanic stone," A strange light crossed his human eyes for a fraction of a second before being washed away by cold logic: "It is often used for construction."

Kirk's comment was drowned by a shrill, too-loud voice, and both officers turned to face the one alien now entering the wide chamber to greet them. "So you come for Starfleet, correct?" Their accent was displeasing, altering the language's musicality completely and filling it in sharp noises and useless pausing.

"Sir, it is a pleasure knowing you. We are here on Starfleet's behalf to offer assistance in any…" started the Captain, for once according to protocol.

" _Jh_ at I know, _jahr._ " The alien waved a hand in evident dismissal, rotating their angular face by inches to glance outside the window. "You want us- _h_ to join Starfleet, not?"

"That would be advisable," Spock interjected, raising his chin in a subtle display of pride, "We can offer…"

"You _will_ hold your tongue, _Vulcan_ ," their host hissed cruelly, amber eyes alight in disgust, "Patience is not a virtue. I will not waste time." The First Officer fell quiet, so the alien went to sit behind a table and invited them to approach him. Kirk decided upon it: he was more than willing to decrease the distance between them and their phasers. "Good- _h_. Now _jh_ at we agree, I will name my price for joining your friendly communion of planets pathetic and gutless."

They watched as the reptile consulted a device closely resembling a PADD, and the Captain narrowed his eyes, automatically taking a step forward so as to shield the Vulcan from their evident hostility. Spock raised an eyebrow at that, but chose not to point out the absence of logic behind such a gesture; instead he brushed a finger against the human's naked wrist: _If my calculations are correct, this species evolved into communicating telepathically; it appears they are not used to employing their mouth to form words -it is also possible their hearing is considerably inferior to mine and even yours_.

Kirk lifted up one corner of his lips in a silent assent. ' _Useful'_. "So, what would your price be?" he asked, so low it was almost a breath, easily lost.

The alien snarled at him: "You will speak up, human," they instructed harshly, instantly proving Spock right.

"What would your price be?"

The creature raised fluidly from their elegant chair and walked around the table to stand before the human. "I want _jh_ e blood of _jh_ at Vulcan."

The Captain's usually expressive face was devoid of all emotion -a frightening, dangerous mask- when he said: "Excuse me, _what_?" Cold fury surrounded him like an aura, his eyes were narrowed, fists clenched; before he could severely anger their host, Spock decided to intercede: "In what capacity and for what use?"

A smirk from the alien was all it took for Kirk to firmly press a hand on the Vulcan's chest and push him backwards, forcing him to retreat. "What you are suggesting is a crime against an endangered species," he growled, blue eyes as deep as a stormy ocean.

"We found _jh_ eir blood useful to extend youth," Their host walked slowly in a straight line, ready to pounce like a cat. "I demand you give it to me."

"Mine is a mixed blood." Spock stated evenly, "I am half human."

The alien's grin stretched even more, baring a long series of pointed teeth. "Tis no matter. We can clean you of all impurity."

Jim was ashen: "Impurity? That's rich, coming from you! You _will_ leave him be."

"And you will be _jh_ e one to make me?" The threat in their tone was evident, and the creature gave him a disappointed look, "What problem do you have? It's your pet, not?"

" _Pet_!"

Ignoring their exchange, the Vulcan was focusing on the tell-tale signs of powerful telepathic activity going on in the room. "Captain… _Captain_."

"You _really_ think I could _ever_ let you…"

" _Captain_."

"Put your _filthy_ hands on…"

" _Captain_!"

"Take _his blood_ …"

Spock grasped his shoulder and pushed him down on the polished floor in an attempt to shield him from the incoming attack. "Guard your mind!" he breathed, crouching defensively and keeping him still with his superior strength.

"Let me go! It wants you, you _idiot_!" Kirk's protests fell upon deaf ears as the Vulcan snarled openly, eyes glistening with the depth of his concentration. "Spock! Spock, let me go!"

And much to his astonishment, he _did_ let him go; surprise turned hastily into dread as the Science Officer's eyes widened impossibly and his face scrunched up in raw pain. Such an uncontrolled display of emotion could mean one thing, and one thing only: his shields were completely down if not destroyed, and he was left to battle the blend of human and Vulcan feelings that often tormented him, lapping at his wavering controls.

Spock brought both hands to his head and _screamed_.

"Your mind is an interesting place," stated the creature as they lifted him up by his neck; they seemed to have discarded Jim's presence as inoffensive, thus leaving him free to act: he gracefully crawled behind the desk, going through the pile of Starfleet-issued gadgets to see if something had remained intact; finally, he retrieved a phaser and a hopefully-fixable communicator, along with what was left of the tricorder.

"I see you are _h_ -damaged," the alien was still saying, mocking the Vulcan's grief and confusion; with a sharp twist of his wrist, they threw him across the room and against a wall. Spock landed lightly, squatting down and dragging his nails on the solid stone, instinct-driven and _lost_. " _Bath'pa_ ," he snarled.

Kirk lifted his phaser and aimed carefully at the creature's flesh, taking a guess as to where their heart would be: neck, sides, chest… He settled for a quick combination of shots that were sure to leave them at least stunned. " _You_ are damaged," he angrily hissed, shooting quickly and mercilessly. The alien gasped, ready to strike at the human, but the crazed Vulcan jumped at them from behind, locking their throat in a suffocating hold and keeping them still for his Captain to kill. When they fell limp against his body, Spock let them go and almost flew to a corner, breath coming out in huffs and gaze fixed on something that wasn't there.

"Spock? Hey." Jim tiptoed towards him, moving slowly and in a predictable manner, mindful of not pressing him further into his corner. "Awake, Spock! Get a grip on yourself, we have to flee!" Upon making certain his First Officer wasn't going to attack him, Kirk placed one hand around his shaking arm and the other on his back: "Please, Spock, snap out of it, wake up! _Kum'i_!"

He dragged the Vulcan towards the conduct and kicked it open. " _Kum'i, sanu_!"

Spock blinked, and with what appeared to be a herculean effort he managed to focus on the human by his side: "Captain."

Relief washed over the Captain's face. "Come on, we must go!" With that, he pushed him down the pipe and slid in himself.

They fell in a heap several floors below; they were lucky enough to find themselves inside an empty hall that must have been used as storehouse. Kirk jumped to his feet as soon as they touched the ground, already examining the goods surrounding them in search of something useful. Spock hung his head and curled up in a ball, inhaling deeply in a desperate attempt to restore his severely damaged control. It was slipping away as easily as if it had been made of water, and he was afraid, terrified, confused, hurt, lost…

Jim returned by his side carrying a pair of long, heavy looking cloaks: "Spock? Spock, listen, put it on, we need to leave the city and we must not be seen, so put it on, Spock?"

The Vulcan sighed softly. "My shields are broken," he murmured.

"I know, don't worry, we'll restore them in a minute, but we have to leave!" He wrapped himself in the thick, iridescent fabric and slithered the second mantle around Spock's unmoving form. "You should leave without me. I am losing control."

"I don't _care_ if you're losing control, get _up_ so we can go!" He grabbed both his wrists and pulled, but the Science Officer resisted him firmly. "Your chances of survival will increase from 13.45 to 56.78 if you go… alone. Leave me be for I am slipping and might endanger you."

"I don't care!" Jim set his jaw stubbornly, seeking to meet the Vulcan's restless eyes. "You're coming with me."

" _No_!"

At that, the human slapped him full in the face: "Move!"

He seemed to be frightened: "Please, Jim… Leave me be…" he begged quietly, panting in his attempt to keep himself in check. "Please!"

"I will make that an order, Commander." Kirk's voice was harsh and authoritative. "Get up and _run_ with me."

Run he did.

* * *

The Vulcan jumped to his feet and squeezed the human's wrist between trembling fingers, then ran outside the palace they were in and into the dry, reddish streets; through their contact, Jim could feel the emotions wandering freely -pain grief hurt fright disbelief love anger fury _Mother please don't be dead_ loss insecurity _there is no home_ dread anguish- and he knew Spock was relying on his own instinct to get them out danger: he moved swiftly, like a sehlat, changing path now and then, hiding in shadows and dark alleys, making no sound and forcing the Captain to meet his careful, fluid pacing.

When the greyish fog eventually engulfed them, Kirk sighed softly in relief, hoping to catch his breath, but Spock tugged firmly at his caged wrist -that was going to leave bruises- and resumed his flight, apparently not fully aware of where he was leading them.

Or maybe he was? Jim gasped from the angry pangs piercing his lungs and sides, yet he kept his quiet and trusted him completely: he _would_ stop, sooner or later, wouldn't he?

By then, they were flanking a chain of low, sharp mountains that bore a striking resemblance to Vulcan's landscape, so much so that the human started worrying they would find themselves trapped between the aliens and feral _le-matyas_. He followed his First Officer inside a hidden cave, looking up in wonder at the amazing patterns the elements had woven into the purple rock. A small, furry animal growled at them before Spock's menacing snarl drew it away into the blistering heat.

"Hey," Kirk murmured, raising his free hand to brush it across his forearm, "You can rest now. We are safe."

The Vulcan stared at him for a full minute, slowly coming back to his senses, then a horrified expression crossed his too-pale face, and he let go of his wrist; he fell to the ground, hands splayed on his knees and head bowed to hide the emotion he was showing. His Captain crouched down next to him, glancing worriedly at his shaking frame: "Are you cold?" He quickly rid himself of the cloak, laid it on the floor, and touched two fingers to Spock's forehead: it was far too hot. "You have a fever!"

Then the Commander was forcing his own mouth shut with the palm of his hand, and Jim was on his feet in an instant: "You're going to throw up on me, right?" The Vulcan coughed fiercely, so the human helped him up and outside the cave, where he bent down shuddering. Kirk held him steady as he retched, supporting himself against the rock to prevent his body from giving in to the other's furious spasms. Afterwards, he guided him back to sitting on the dusty floor and tore a piece of his cloak so he could use it to wipe his mouth.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, concern seeping into his voice. He settled by his side, crossing his legs and pulling out the remains of the tricorder and communicator to examine them.

"There is… pain…" Spock whispered somewhat dazedly, "I did not believe… There was this much… Inside my mind."

The Captain grimaced, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder: "You'll get through."

The Vulcan nodded, shying away from his touch, incapable of bearing it even with the layer of fabric between them. "I think… I will attempt to restore my shields… through meditation."

"Of course. I'll try and find a way to contact the ship. If there's anything - _anything_ \- you need, just ask me, ok?"

" _Ha_." He closed his eyes and was quiet.

* * *

Kirk worked for the remaining half of the morning and into the afternoon: he carefully pulled the communicator apart, trying to ascertain the damage, then proceeded to disembody the tricorder in order to obtain a few pieces he could make good use of. Now for the worst part… He had to rebuild the speaking device. He glanced at Spock to see whether he was finished with his meditation and could help him, and his mouth fell open in horror at the sight of the tears -yes, tears- running down his face. He was slumped against a wall and mumbled under his breath unintelligible Vulcan words, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw a streak of green blood.

He was by his side in a blink, and called for him to wake up and break free of the nightmare now holding him prisoner. Spock's eyes snapped open and he stared uncomprehendingly at his Captain's face, reaching out to grasp at his shirt with frozen fingers. "I am drowning," he gasped, once again panting with the effort of keeping control. "Meditation was… unsuccessful…"

"Spock, calm down. Breathe." Jim set the communicator aside in favour of granting the Officer the whole of his attention; many times before had he seen that look in a friend's eyes, that look that cried in despair and fierce denial, that look that tasted like death and murder. _There is nothing worth living for, and yet I wish to live._ "Breathe."

"I fail to see how breathing…" Spock clutched at his shirt, flattening himself against the human's familiar warmth, desperate for any kind of reassurance, "How breathing will…"

"Hush." Kirk scooped the cloak from the floor and wrapped it tightly around the Vulcan, rubbing his back with one hand while lifting his wrist with the other. "Show me what you feel." He demanded, bringing the telepath's fingers close to his cheek.

"That… would be… unwise…" Spock hissed, still unable to resist him, "It would only. Hurt you."

"I know how to make the pain stop," Jim said, ignoring him, "I've done it before. Let me help."

"I cannot… allow… you…"

"Spock, for Goodness' sake, you're falling apart!" This time the human lost his patience, grabbed the Vulcan's hand and pressed the shaking fingers on his temple. "Let me help you! We can put your shields back together but you have to let me in!"

"Vulcan emotions… are not… for a human… to handle. It will only hurt you, and I refuse." His eyes were full of sorrow and fear. "I do not wish to hurt you…"

"You won't. Now start the meld."

* * *

"No matter what you choose to be, Spock, you will have a proud mother." Amanda's face is warm and beautiful and full of acceptance and pride. He loves her so dearly -has he told her? He is not sure… He is confused. His mind is spinning in circles and he does not know where he is or even when.

He has to find Mother, tell her he understands what she means to convey when she holds him softly and kisses his forehead and makes him _Plomeek_ soup -his absolute favourite- even if he's not requested it. He has to find her and be human for her at least for a very little while, in the safe loneliness of her beloved garden where no one can see them.

He is eager to return home as a Starfleet Officer, to show the world he has finally risen above their mistrust and prejudice, to demonstrate he has made both the logical and the right choice, to hear Amanda praise him sincerely and wholeheartedly.

But it is dark, and he has lost his way home: he is surrounded by silence and there is nothing but stars around him, cold, distant, empty stars, not a voice, not a sound, not a face.

He is alone.

"How long does the planet have?"

"M _ee_ nutes, sir, m _ee_ nutes."

 _Minutes?_ That cannot be -it is illogical. How can an entire planet vanish completely? And yet it does -his Vulcan, his everything, his _Ah'rak_ is gone, wiped away from the universe by one crazy mind.

He has lost his way home because there is no home. The truth of such a statement overwhelms him and he drowns deep down in his own despair that matches the grief of what is left of his people ("I am now part of an endangered species."). What of the desert, so endless and unforgiving? What of the sehlats, so graceful and powerful? What of _Shi'Kahr_ , their beautiful capital city? What of all he's ever known and called home?

 _What of home?_

 _What of home?_

 _Where do I belong?_

 _Whom do I belong to?_

 _Mother…_ He stares into her chocolate eyes as her face reflects the horror of the landscape falling apart and on itself, of the planet shrieking and crumbling to pieces and _dying_. Fear fills his chest and his heart stutters as he glances down at the rock beneath her feet a moment before it gives in underneath her and pulls her into death's embrace. His arm shoots up, she is there, he has to grab her, hold her, protect her. But she is gone and he is lost.

 _What of home? What of Mother?_ She has left him and now he belongs to no one. His mind wails at the loss, the bond -their bond, their precious reassuring bond- is broken, is beyond repair, and he feels it like an open wound inside his howling brain. He wants to cry and rage but he cannot, he cannot because he is Vulcan and has long ago sworn to be perfect, to be unemotional and unwavering and collected.

But what of Surak?

 _What of Surak?_

Surak didn't know, Surak didn't see.

How do you face such a tragedy?

Is it not respectful of the lost to grieve and hurt and drown in misery?

Is it not better?

Is it not _right_?

* * *

Kirk shivered visibly, very nearly losing himself to the strength of Vulcan emotions. He'd never been deceived by his cold façade: he knew full well that just behind his carefully guarded shields an ocean of feelings ran deep and mostly uncontrolled, ignored and often avoided. He searched for something, anything, that could bring him back up to the surface.

 _What of home?_

 _Where is home?_

Spock's mind was whirling around him, demanding answers that did not exist, had never existed: _Where is home?_

Jim opened his eyes and pressed both hands on his friend's face -his skin was far too chilly even for green-blooded standards- and tried to send him a wave of reassurance and warmth. _Where is home?_

 _'Follow me and I shall lead you home.'_

 _Do you promise?_

 _'I promise.'_

He guided him to his own mind and thoughts, to memories of recovering and living no matter what, of slowly healing after all he'd ever known turned to hell. _'It is all right to doubt,'_ he murmured, _'It is all right to grieve.'_

 _Is it? I grieve for my lost people._

 _'Not all is lost, Spock.'_

 _Tell me, what isn't?_

 _'Many are still alive._ You _are still alive.'_

 _I am drowning._

 _'Do not fear emotion: understand it, live it, embrace it.'_

 _That is against my philosophy. It is not wise. Not safe._

 _'Feel how you feel! Don't you see? You'll be lost if you refuse to face yourself!'_

 _I will not be ruled by emotion._

 _'I am not asking you to be! But you can't control your feelings if you keep running from them.'_

 _Who are you, speaking to me in such a way?_

 _'I am your friend.'_

 _My friend. And what is home?_

 _'The Enterprise's home. We need to go back. They'll be worried. Bones will kill me.'_

 _The Enterprise! I… see._

* * *

Spock gasped, pulling himself away from the meld and gingerly holding the human who was swaying visibly within his arms. "Captain! Jim." He watched as he opened his eyes and grinned, the smile like a ray of sunshine slicing a path of light amid the void.

"So are you back?" he teased, sitting up in a more dignified position and taking deep, steadying breaths.

"I believe so, Captain," the Vulcan said, touching a finger to his forehead in an attempt to hide his exhaustion. "Do you require assistance in finding the means to communicate with the ship?"

Jim waved him off carelessly, picking up the almost-repaired communicator and resuming his work. "Nah, I'm fine. Just rest. Shields back up?"

"They are, sir, and I thank you." He lifted himself on his knees and peered down at the numerous wires with which Kirk was fiddling. "I insist upon offering my help."

"Spock, _don't._ " The human gave him a reproaching look: "You're pale as death, running a fever, recovering from a powerful mental attack with an empty stomach and in a cold environment. Do you want Bones to give you _a month_ of medical leave?"

"As a Vulcan I am…"

"A self-sacrificing idiot," Jim cut him off, "Sleep. I've got this covered. Almost done, too."

And since he _did_ seem to know what he was doing, Spock decided that just this once he would listen to him and rest. A warm smiled graced the Captain's lips as he offered him his golden shirt. "Come on, take it, I know you're freezing."

"But what of you?" the Vulcan objected, holding the warm fabric in his hands and staring at the human's now naked arms.

"When I said it's cold I meant _cold for you_. _I'm_ boiling here. My uniform blacks are just fine!" And with that he turned his back on him, effectively ending the argument before it could even start. The First Officer resigned himself to wearing Kirk's shirt upon his own, then curled up beneath the two cloaks and fell asleep almost immediately.

Jim sighed in relief at seeing his face relax visibly. Under the last rays of sunset, he pulled the communicator close and all but willed it to work again: "Kirk to Enterprise, do you copy? Enterprise, do you copy?"

"Captain!" Lieutenant Sulu's voice was ringing with joy and victory, "What happened?"

"Sulu! It's so good to hear from you! Track the coordinates of this thing and beam us up, _now_!"

"Aye, sir!"

"And have Bones ready, we'll need a bit of attention…"

"I _am_ ready, moron!"

* * *

Spock could barely stand straight when they beamed back up, and it took Jim a lot of convincing to have the Doctor allow him to retire to his quarters.

"Please, Bones, just this once, will you listen to me?" he begged, half-carrying the Science Officer towards the turbolift.

McCoy ran a Tricorder all over the Vulcan's shivering body, worry etched deep on his face. "His vitals are way off, kid, _what_ did he get himself into this time?"

"It was a mental attack. You got it? _Mental_. He needs rest and quiet, not sickbay and Hypos."

The dirty look the CMO sent him was enough to render him silent. "Too late," he hissed, jamming his patient's neck with two different Hypos in rapid succession. "His temperature is far too high, and you _know_ it. If I let him up into his den he's gonna start working the moment his eyes are open!" He gently pulled one of Spock's arms around his own shoulders, helping Kirk support his weight as he stumbled. "God, he's _bushed_!"

"Bones. You _can_ treat him at his quarters, can't you?"

"All right, all right! I give up!" He motioned for his friend to lead them to Officers' Deck, huffing impatiently, "But I warn you now: it's a week in sickbay if he disobeys my orders. For _both_ of you."

" _Wha_ \- Bones! That's unfair!" Jim protested, trying to scream in a whisper. Using his Captain's code to override security, he let himself into the Vulcan's quarters, laying him down on his bed and burying him under a pile of blankets.

"Something wrong, Jimmy? Thought you trusted the bastard with your life or something!" Bones chuckled softy. "Computer, raise temperature by 3.5 degrees."

"With my life, yes! With this, absolutely _not_!" The blond whined, sitting cross-legged next to Spock, who was, by then, fully unconscious.

"Then I'll see you in sickbay, Captain." McCoy placed a few envelopes on the bedside table and pointed at them: "Make sure he eats as soon as he awakes; the fever should be entirely gone in about… half an hour. If it's not, call me. _See that you do_."

"Thank you, Bones!" Jim chimed happily, "You're the best!"

"The best _my ass_ …" muttered the Doctor as he left.

"Captain?" A soft, barely audible voice broke the silence that followed, startling Kirk out of his drowsiness.

The human turned quickly, planting his elbows on the mattress and staring down at his First Officer with solicitude. "Spock! How do you feel?"

"Considerably better, sir," was his thoroughly satisfying reply. "I… apologise for my previous behaviour. It was unbecoming."

Jim helped him sit a little straighter and offered him the energetic stuff McCoy had prescribed. "Don't. You have nothing to apologise for."

"That being the case… May I ask you a personal query?" the Vulcan murmured, wary curiosity filling his tone and eyes. "Please note that I will not be offended should you choose not to answer."

"Ask away, Spock. Would you like a tea, first? You must be parched!" Kirk got up, heading for the replicator before Spock could even begin to nod.

" _Please_." He agreed anyway, lifting up the corners of his mouth in what translated as a grateful smile. He held the cup of tea with both hands and stared down at the clear liquid as he voiced his musings aloud: "You have helped me greatly in coping with the distress caused by the loss of my planet. It is unusual for me to be made to deal with such a powerful wave of emotions, but you seemed to be… quite adept. You knew what to do and what to say, and I cannot help but reach the conclusion that you have, in fact, experienced something similar on previous occasions." Eventually, he looked directly into his Captain's vivid blue eyes. "Am I correct?"

A long, heavy silence ensued. "You are." Jim turned so that now he was sitting with his back against the side of the bed, hiding his expression from the Vulcan. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully measured: "Bones is the only one to know, and it must stay that way. I will tell you because you showed me your hell, it's only fair that you ask about mine."

Spock reached out to lay the tip of his finger on his shoulder. "I do not wish to know if you do not want me to."

He sighed. "I was a child and I was on Tarsus IV when the whole Kodos affair happened." After a long pause, Jim continued flatly: "I was there with the hunger and fear and murder and genocide. I lost so many. I was supposed to die with the unworthy… I thought I had died. Except I didn't."

The human got up in a brisk motion. "See, Spock? I, too, had a taste of downfall. I believed the world had ended the day everyone else but me died; I wanted it to end. But it didn't. It didn't, and I'm still here."

"I am grateful for that."

* * *

 _AN: So this chapter is longer than the previous one, but I had a lot to say.  
I wanna leave a great Thank you! To all those who Followed, Favourited (is that even a verb?) and Reviewed my work (I love you guys) and I hope you'll like how this is going so far._

 _I know there's only Kirk and Spock here (the story's about them, after all) but I'll have lots of fluffy crew moments in the next chapter, because I just looove them!_

 _Live long and prosper, and please R &R!_


	3. Chapter 3 Vegetarian Polmik

_AN: Me again! Be ready for mindless humor (hope I'll make you laugh even just a little) and t'hy'la issues! This chapter was a lot of fun to write, and I threw in some Scotty, too. Please do forgive my poor excuse of a Scottish accent (thank you, wikipedia!)_

 _Enjoy!_

 ** _3_**

 ** _Vegetarian Polmik soup and SpiderVulcans_**

The loud beeping of the computer filled the room, and Kirk was quick to answer it before Spock could even think about getting up. Glaring menacingly at the Vulcan, the human opened the connection and listened to the message: it was Uhura speaking. "Mister Spock, do you happen to know where the Captain is?" she asked hurriedly.

"Kirk here. Spock's indisposed. What's up, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, you have an incoming call -normally I would put it on hold, but it's from your brother."

The Captain froze instantly, curling his hands into tight fists and setting his jaw; his expression was fathomless: "My brother?" he echoed flatly.

"Yes, sir, a George Samuel Kirk. Should I put him on hold?" The communications officer seemed to have caught up to Jim's distress, as had Spock, who was now ridding himself of the blankets in order to leave the bed.

Kirk bared his teeth at him in a clear threat, but was promptly ignored as his Commander moved to stand right behind him. With a resigned sigh, the blonde turned again to address the waiting Lieutenant: "You know what, Uhura? I'm curious. Patch him through!"

"Aye, sir!" She appeared to be hesitating, before gently whispering: "Is everything all right, sir?"

Jim huffed softly, but his voice was strong and chirping when he said: "Yes, Nyota, thank you!"

He then quirked an eyebrow at Spock, who simply clasped his hands behind his back and cocked his head to the side, watching the screen light up; it showed the image of a man a few years older than his Captain, grey eyes surrounded by a delicate pattern of wrinkles and golden hair neatly combed. He gave a sharp, nervous laugh as he took in the scene he was presented with: his younger brother, clad only in his uniform blacks, stared at him with barely concealed hostility, shoulder to shoulder with a battered looking Vulcan whose cold demeanour could have easily frozen a desert.

"Why, Jimmy, I thought you were Captain of the Enterprise! Have you been demoted?" he joked in an attempt to ease the tension, gesturing towards the golden shirt the alien was still wearing.

Spock stepped forward, nodding minutely: "You must be the Captain's elder brother," he mused, "I am Commander Spock. It is a pleasure meeting you."

"Believe me, it's not," Jim hissed under his breath. Then, louder: "What do you want from me, Sam?"

The Science Officer frowned, confused by the lack of warmth in his friend's voice; he had always known earth to value family above anything else, and humans were usually very explicit in their demonstrations of affection, love and care -it was natural behaviour for them, so why was Kirk so upset? He decided he would investigate further, if possible, and regarded George Samuel Kirk with a newfound dislike he couldn't logically explain.

"I just wanted to tell you… I'm married. Her name's Aurelan and she's beautiful."

Jim's eyes went wide with surprise before he could once again compose his face into a mask of indifference. "And you're telling me this… why?"

Samuel brought his hands up to caress his temples: "God, Jim, you're such a headache… I'm married, you're _family_ , you should know!"

"I'm family? Since when?" Blue eyes fixed on the screen filled with fury and resentment as he crossed his arms and laughed bitterly: "Seriously, Sam, you could have come up with a better excuse!"

"What if I told you I mean it?" muttered the elder human, fidgeting.

Without bothering to grace him with an answer, Jim asked: "How long have you been married, Sam?"

His brother bit down on his lower lip, clearly uncomfortable with the new topic of discussion: "Come on, James, why must you always…"

"How _long_ , Sam?" pressed Jim, as if trying to prove himself a point.

"Err… A few months, more or less…"

"A few _months_? Great." His face fell in a curious mixture of victory and disappointment, and the young Captain spread his arms wide in surrender. "That's just… great."

"Hey, don't you think that's unfair of you? You've been quite secretive yourself." Seeing his sibling's uncomprehending expression, he added: "I mean, I know you're into aliens, but a _Vulcan_? Wow. That's a little out of your league, don't you think?"

"A _Vul_ \- Now, listen up, Sam…" Jim's tone was heated, his shoulders tense, foot tapping angrily on the floor.

"Captain, if I may?" Spock murmured, touching his wrist briefly in an attempt to calm him down and startling both humans, who had apparently forgotten all about their silent audience. The First Officer lowered on Sam the most intimidating of his death glares, and when he spoke his voice was pure haughtiness and contempt: "I believe you are misguided, Mister Kirk." One graceful eyebrow arched to complete the picture of Vulcan superiority, as pale fingers joined together just below his dark eyes. "It is evident you are the one at fault in this exchange, and as you seem to be well aware of the fact I can only presume you are trying to relieve your guilt and frustration by shifting the blame on the Captain." The corners of his mouth went up minutely, and he delivered the final blow: "Incidentally, your use of the expression 'way out of your league' as a means of referring to Vulcans' aesthetically pleasing appearance may suggest you might have made a mistake in your choice of a human partner."

Jim's mouth opened with a rather resounding 'pop' as he gaped at his Commander, awestruck. "Wow."

Samuel chuckled unsteadily: "Hey, chill out, dude. The room's frozen."

"The temperature is 63°F above water's freezing point," Spock stated.

"Well, Sam, it was nice hearing you, but I'm actually quite busy at the moment. Captain stuff, you know. Bye." And with that he shut the computer down, cutting communications before rounding on the Vulcan: "You're supposed to be ill and recovering," he glowered, pointing an accusatory finger at him, "Back to bed, _now_."

"Yes, sir," Spock agreed, good-naturedly settling back among the crumpled blankets. "But I am actually quite well. The fever has subsided."

Kirk raised a hand and smirked: "Stop. I know where this is going: _'Yes, Captain, I believe I am fit for duty and will be returning to my station in approximately 1.4376 hours'_ …"

"1.467 hours," the Commander corrected automatically. "Is that a problem?"

"All right, Vulcan King of Sass, pay attention: if you don't lay low for a while and rest, Bones's gonna have both of us confined to sickbay." He sat down on Spock's bedside table, planting the cup of tea back under his nose. "Yes, you heard me well: _both of us_."

"That's… extremely illogical."

"No, it's not. Think about it: Bones's gonna get what he wants in the end." His lips curved up in a dark, dangerous grin: "Since _I_ have no intention of visiting sickbay in my immediate future, _you_ 're gonna be good and enjoy your little vacation."

A small crease appeared between the Vulcan's eyebrows as he considered the matter from various points of view. "I still find it illogical to punish you for my eventual misbehaving," he decided in the end.

"But there won't be any eventual misbehaving, Spock," Jim assured him sweetly. "Not unless you want to see me highly dissatisfied and disappointed." He got up, ready to leave: "Trust me, you don't want to."

"Indeed, Captain, I believe I don't."

* * *

As they queued behind the replicator some three weeks later, Spock and Kirk discussed Vulcan chess. They had become, if possible, closer than they already were, spending most of their free time together, reaching a level of mutual understanding that worked miracles both on the bridge and during reckless away missions; so lost he was in their conversation that the First Officer didn't even notice the spiteful comments thrown at his back by various disgruntled ensigns: he had launched himself in an enthusiastic (because, flat tone and emotionless face set aside, he _was_ enthusiastic -his eyes were glistening and he was employing a considerable number of adjectives) description of the game's rules and was now listing each and every reason why it was more fascinating, engaging and in conclusion infinitely better than standard three-dimensional chess.

Jim watched him bemusedly, focusing half of his attention on what his crewmembers were not-so-subtly saying about the alien's lack of compassion or shit. Telling himself Spock was above caring and so he should be as well, he strode towards the replicator in time to hear someone mutter about 'whatever the hell the goblin was eating'. On a sudden whim of inspiration, he elbowed the Vulcan in the ribs to stop him from leaving and took his plate from him: "I think I'll have one of these," he declared loudly as his Science Officer blinked and resigned to replicating another portion of orange coloured soup, "It smells _just fine_!"

He walked proudly towards the table where the rest of Alpha shift was already waiting for the two of them to arrive. "Hey, I _can_ eat it, can't I? I mean, it's edible for humans, right?" he whispered worriedly. Spock smirked softly and nodded, then sat silently by his side as he cheerfully greeted his Chief Engineer: "Scotty! So good to see you! What brings you here between us living beings?"

Scott laughed at his teasing and punched his shoulder: "I missed ye lads, ye know! Ma' Lady can survive a couple hours without me, I think…"

"You sure you don't want to get her some food while you're at it?"

"Nay, _that's outwith my remit_ , sadly…"

"God, Scott, you're crazy!" said McCoy nonchalantly, looking down at Jim's meal and getting ready to lecture him about the merits of a fresh, healthy salad; his eyes widened and he turned to stare at the Vulcan who had been watching him inconspicuously for the past 2.35 minutes. "How _the hell_ did you get him to eat _that_?" The Doctor almost shouted in his sheer surprise, "That's vegetarian polmik soup or something! You sneaky bastard!"

"It's _Plomeek_ , Bones," Kirk casually corrected, yawning lazily and deliberately to further irritate him. "P-l-o-m-e-e-k. Of course it's vegetarian."

"Captain, if you don't mind my asking…" Spock set aside his empty plate in favour of regarding his friend with curiosity. "You seem to be very well-versed in Vulcan speech patterns and traditions as of late. How come?"

Uhura grinned smugly at that, and chose to answer the question herself: "Because I've been teaching him, why else?" She winked, amused to see how astonished he actually was.

"Yeah, whatever…" Leonard grumbled, refusing to drop his chosen subject. "Kid, I've been trying to force you into a healthy diet for ages! It's like lifting a pregnant elephant with the thinnest of spider webs!"

"That, Doctor," the Vulcan proclaimed for everyone's enjoyment, "Would be illogical if not impossible."

"Well, not exactly!" Sulu piped up, a mischievous look about his face as he proceeded to drop the bomb: " _Spiderman_ could!"

Uhura almost fell from her chair with laughter: "Now wait a second. You have _so_ not just compared _Spock_ to _Spiderman_!"

"And how am I in any way like a spider, sirs?" Spock demanded, lifting both eyebrows together as he glanced at his Captain, pleading for an assistance which did not come, as the human seemed to be having the time of his life.

"Vell, you do have wery long fingers, sir!" Chekov promptly explained, always eager to help, wriggling his own fingers as an explanation. "As you are vell aware, Spiderman is a legend that vas originally born in Russia…" He began, but the First Officer interrupted him, frowning ever-so-slightly: "Thus far I have been called an elf, a pointy-eared bastard, a cold pointy-eared bastard, a 'pointy', a green-blooded hobgoblin, a goblin, a freakin' God, a magician, an insufferable know-it-all, a Vulcan King of Sass and, now, a Spider Man. I must confess I do not understand this human habit of using multiple names to refer to the same thing or person."

"That's fine, SpiderVulcan, we don't expect you to." Bones patted his back in a condescending sort of way that only served to make him want to press the matter farther: "I require clarifications as to how a being can be both Spider and Man -or Vulcan, if you wish."

"Well, Spock, what about getting bitten by a radioactive spider?" Jim threw in with a chuckle, sipping his last spoonful of Plomeek soup: "And no, you can't say 'illogical', it's superhero stuff, so it doesn't have to be."

The Vulcan nodded very gravely: "I see. Thank you, Captain, for clarifying."

"It's Jim." the human immediately corrected, while the others mouthed his words mockingly. "You have to call me Jim when we're not on duty."

"Of course, _Captain_ ," Spock said.

"Okay, Spock, enough of this," McCoy pointed a fork at the Science Officer and stared at him through his signature scowl: "I want to know your secret."

"My secret, Doctor? To what are you referring?"

"To your darn Polmik soup, pointy! You somehow managed to have _James Tiberius Kirk_ eat it _whole_ , and that's about as difficult as… as… as…" He groaned, searching for a strong metaphor. Sulu smirked, coming up with a good one and sharing it immediately: "It's about as difficult as surfing on the moon!" And he made a good show of surfing with a waving motion of his hand above the table.

"That, Lieutenant, is even more illogical than lifting an elephant with a spider web and turning into a Spider Man," Spock protested, "As a moon is devoid of all ocean."

"Well, congratulations, Mr Spock!" Scotty applauded the now-more-than-simply-confused Vulcan with a brisk clap of hands, "You just did!"

After a long pause when everyone waited eagerly for his reply, he confessed: "I am… unsure as to what your meaning is, Mr Scott."

"Come on, Spock, spit it out already!" The CMO had, quite clearly, lost his patience, and was the only one not currently crying with laughter in sharp, pained gasps.

"Spit _what_ out, Doctor?"

Leonard jumped to his feet in exasperation: "I'm outta here!" he proclaimed, stomping away furiously as the rest of Alpha crew tried desperately to recover at least an appearance of professionalism. When he had succeeded in collecting his breath and keeping a straight face, Kirk turned to Spock and smiled: "Why do you always take the bait?"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow: "Do you intend to go fishing anytime soon, Jim?"

And if anyone wondered why the whole of the afternoon shift was spent between hardly-suppressed chuckles and covert smirking, Spock had absolutely no idea.

* * *

"So how did the latest mission go? I was busy keeping Admiral Komak at bay, so…" Uhura asked Chekov in a soft whisper. The young Russian grinned, covering his mouth with a hand as he made a summary of past events: "Vell zere vas zis thing zat vas killing humans; Mister Spock said it vas ze last one of a species and refused to kill it, but ze thing attacked ze Keptein, so Mister Spock vanted to kill it. By zen ze Keptein had changed his mind and decided it vas to live after all, and Mister Spock made friends with it…"

"Is this to become a pattern?" the Lieutenant chuckled under her breath, fixing her high ponytail with quick motions. "They're cute, don't you think?"

"Vell, _I_ think so, but Mister Scott bets…"

He was interrupted by Sulu's chiming voice as he announced, in a half-warning: "Captain on the Bridge!" Everybody scurried to their assigned positions in a flash, not wanting to undergo a thirty-minute lecture by a 'considerably disappointed and fascinated but not in the positive sense' Vulcan.

As he settled comfortably in front of his beloved monitors (illogical: one could not and should not grow attached to inanimate objects), Spock caught Uhura staring at him with a knowing expression that elicited in him the sudden urge to hide his face from her questioning gaze. The Captain sank in his chair with a satisfied groan, and saved him any further embarrassment by happily proclaiming: "At few minutes warp from here there's a totally unexplored planet, class M, waiting for us!"

Cautious cheering passed across the bridge, and the First Officer straightened in his seat, waiting for his cue to start rattling off all the precious information he'd collected in the past 3.2 days.

"Mister Spock, if you please…"

"Yes, sir. This class M planet we are currently approaching bears a substantial resemblance to Earth: its atmosphere contains 27% of oxygen, 69% of nitrogen and 4% of trace elements, amongst which an important 1.33% of carbon dioxide." He paused briefly to look down at his scannings, then raised his head again to meet Kirk's eyes; slowly, he continued: "The life-forms are, of course, carbon-based; I do not detect anything apart from a generous amount of plants and some primitive animals, therefore I daresay it is a relatively safe environment."

"Hear, hear," muttered McCoy, who had been invited to join them momentarily. "You can bet your ass it's a safe environment."

"And pray, Doctor, why would I do such a thing?" Spock demanded, lifting an eyebrow at him, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes.

Jim clapped his hands, playing peacemaker as usual. "Relax, Bones, it'll be fun! Since we have a week left before our next scheduled mission…"

"Eleven point one-four-six days, Captain."

"Yes, eleven whatever-you-like days, Mister Spock. I thought it could be a great place to have a little recreating exploration." He flashed his typical grin that meant trouble, much to the CMO's displeasure and everybody else's enjoyment. "So here's the deal: I'm beaming down with a small away team to… test the waters, you could say, and if it's really safe, we can stay a while."

"I don't like this." Bones grumbled, "I really don't."

"Mister Sulu!" Kirk called, pointedly ignoring the Doctor, "There's gonna be a lot of greenies to examine, so that's your field! Fancy a trip?"

The helmsman's face lit up with excitement: "Aye, sir, thank you sir! I look forward to it!"

"Mister Spock! You're with us!" Jim added unnecessarily.

"Of course, Captain."

"Uhura, put the planet on-screen. Let's see this beauty!"

* * *

"Damn it, damn it, _damn it_!" Jim rolled over among blue grass, cursing through clenched teeth and hoping his fall wouldn't end too abruptly; he eventually hit his back on the stone-like bark of a ridiculously tall tree, and all the breath was knocked out of his chest for a full minute before he could recover enough to lift himself up on trembling limbs. "Damned be _Vulcans_ and their superior strength!"

He looked around frantically, head snapping left to where he could hear the menacing sounds of growling beasts: he immediately broke into a run, phaser ready and set on kill, desperate to join his First Officer to where he was fighting a rather animalistic fight. "I swear I'll _murder_ Bones when we get back! He jinxed it for sure!"

Spock and Sulu had been examining a bunch of oh-so-fascinating plants when the two bear-like beasts had attacked the helmsman, biting down deep into his shoulders; before Kirk could even so much as turn around and get ready to shoot, he had found himself being pushed out of harm's way by the Vulcan, who had apparently decided it was ok to throw the Captain into a tree if it meant saving his life. They would have to talk about this. Now the Science Officer had become the chosen target of both ravenous animals, and was successfully keeping them away from hurt and bleeding Sulu.

Jim crouched next to the human, tearing apart his own golden shirt to improvise a series of bandages with which he tightly wrapped the wound. "You all right?" he hissed urgently.

Sulu nodded: "I'll survive," he panted, sweat running down his forehead in small beads, face pale and hands trembling. "We must help Mister Spock…"

"Captain, I suggest the two of you beam up," came Spock's slightly strained voice as he kicked fluidly at a beast's legs. "Now would be an appropriate time."

"Shut up, you fool, we're not leaving without you." Kirk helped the helmsman to his feet, then, after making sure he could stand on his own, he let him go and aimed at the closest animal, shooting it only to discover that the phaser didn't so much as scratch it. "Damn!" he groaned again, then popped open his communicator: "Scotty! Tell me you can beam Mister Spock up!"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm afraid the transporter doesn't know the difference between a Vulcan and those beasts!"

"Why not? They're not even touching!"

"Well, they are, sir…"

"What?"

* * *

Spock flattened himself on the sweet-smelling ground in order to avoid the powerful blow one of the two creatures had tried to deliver him, then rolled away just 0.7 seconds before the other could land a paw directly onto his back and crush it. The fight was unbecoming and also quite tiring: he calculated his chances of survival to be lesser than five and greater than zero against a hundred, depending on whether the Captain decided to heed his warning or not. He could hear the much-too-fragile humans shuffling about somewhat busily, and thought perhaps they were concocting some sort of plan which was sure to be dangerous and possibly against all regulations.

A snap of sharp teeth just half an inch above his head forced him back into focusing solely on the animals -fascinating creatures they were, with strong, graceful, elastic bodies, yet they seemed to be very dumb, attacking him one at a time. Sadly, they were also infinitely faster than he was, and he could barely escape them, and not for long.

Suddenly, an excruciating pain crawled up from his fingertips to his shoulder, dizzying him for a good 1.24 seconds -a beast had managed to bite his arm before he could even notice its swift leap, and was now chewing at it somewhat lazily.

Spock's mind went blank but for a persistent, frantic, red-alert warning bouncing about in search of a solution. _Hand! Hand! Hand!_

Trapped as he was, he could _feel_ , feel the animal's hunger and primitive satisfaction at finally having its mouth full: its blurry, not-exactly-aware conscience invaded the Vulcan's senses, initiating a non-wanted meld that only served to confound him further, mingling with the sharp, crippling pain radiating from his too-sensitive, precious fingers. It took him all of his iron control not to burst out screaming.

"Spock! Spock, hold on for one more minute!" Jim Kirk's voice was ringing with rage and concern and confidence: it cut through Spock's green-tinted stupor like a dagger, tearing him away from the creature's bloodthirst and starvation. He raised his head and pushed with his free arm against the beast's muzzle, desperately attempting to pry it open (or at least prevent it from closing completely) while he twisted on the spot to hit the other animal on the throat with the heel of his boot. A trembling breath escaped his ashen lips as the motion sent another wave of pain crashing against his consciousness, but he set his jaw and wilfully ignored the cries of his own body. _Stay alive_.

Using the connection he had with the creature biting at him, he endeavoured to send it thoughts of peace and relaxation, but it was all to no avail: he hissed softly in frustration at being reminded just how much he despised communicating with such base, instinct-driven minds. It was impasse.

"We're lighting a fire!" Kirk warned him, waving, "Let's see if we can scare these bastards away!"

"Captain!" Spock protested instantly, "A fire would not only be highly dangerous, but it would also disrupt the local ecosystem…"

"Shut up!" growled Jim, "I thought you were busy fighting for your life?"

The pain was almost enough to have him faint; he shivered but recovered soon, looking for strength and finding it in the beast's blood lusting mind -he used that same bloodlust to rouse his own ancient instinct, giving it full control of his body as he once again beat off the other creature's attack. His nimble fingers closed around a sharp, slippery fang, and Spock pulled hard, dislocating it with a loud creaking sound; the animal wailed and recoiled from him, finally letting go of his arm just as he planted his improvised blade deep into the other creature's exposed paw.

That was when a ring of flames surrounded them. The Vulcan fell to his knees, barely conscious, but both animals instantly fled from the rising fire, discarding him completely. A scorching heat encircled him, and all of a sudden the thought of laying on the curiously blue grass and basking in that pleasant, familiar warmth seemed to be thoroughly logical. Then he felt the pull of an arm around his waist and fingers enclosing his wrist, and he was on his feet, leaning heavily against soft human flesh, and a voice was screaming somewhere very close…

"Scotty! Beam us up, quick, quick!"

* * *

"Bones. His hand. Bones. His hand, Bones, his hand. _Bones_."

"Shut up, kid, I can see it on my own!"

"You can fix it, right? _Bones_."

"I'll try, now be _quiet_!"

Jim sank into a chair and watched as a crowd of doctors and nurses surrounded his First Officer, who was currently out cold and laying on a bed in sickbay; intensive surgery was needed in order to restore his arm and fingers to their proper functions, and even so the outcome was uncertain. The Captain shivered, feeling terribly guilty and also a little angry at the Vulcan and his obsession with logical self-sacrifice. Unmoving, silent, Kirk observed Bones's attentive, careful toil, hoping with all of his being that his CMO would work another one of his miracles and save him. He listened to the gentle, discreet beeping of the computers, to the doctors' whispered instructions, to his own beating heart, until minutes merged into hours and time ticked by, curious spectator to Jim's inner turmoil.

Eventually, it was over. Spock's injured arm was wrapped in bandages and cautiously laid away from his body, instruments were set aside, washed and put back to their proper places. Sulu, whose gashing wound had been treated and closed in a flash, pressed a hand on his Captain's shoulder and looked down at him gravely: "I can man the conn for a while," he said, "If you want to stay."

"Thank you, Hikaru," Jim murmured, showing him a weak smile. He nodded and left.

McCoy went to sit by his best friend's side, offering him a glass of bourbon and pouring a second for himself. "Don't worry," he grumbled, "Hobgoblin's strong. He'll recover in a heartbeat."

"So he'll be fine? What of his hand?"

The Doctor winced slightly in sympathy: "Must have been in a lot of pain," he muttered, flexing his own fingers out of instinct, "You have no idea how sensible they are. But he'll heal soon enough."

Jim's relief was almost palpable, and he sighed, shoulders slumping as his tension vanished. "Is it normal that he's so still?"

"When is he something other than still?" Leonard chuckled softly. "He's probably using his mind-voodoo to heal faster."

Deeply lost into a healing trance, Spock's mind wandered freely. He was aware, but only in a daze, of his surroundings, and he felt the acute pressing of his friends' concerns, their sparkling consciousness, their overbearing presence. It was oddly soothing and not at all distracting; he listened to the subtle hum of their emotions, for once accepting their existence instead of pushing them away with all his might.

"And he's _really_ going to be all right?" the Captain was asking, voice low, mind disconcertingly quiet, subdued.

"He _is_ , Jim, now _please_ calm down or I'll Hypo your neck sore!" Despite his words, McCoy's tone was tender and affectionate. The Vulcan heard his chair scratch the floor as the Doctor got up and left to move into his office, undoubtedly to file a report of recent developments. Then a feather-like touch on his wrist proceeded to obtain the whole of his attention: even through the thin fabric of his blue shirt, it was easy for him to catch glimpses of what his Captain was feeling -anguish, guilt, anxiety, _please wake up_ \- and Spock was struck by the realisation that his mind was undeniably drawn to that of the human sitting by his side. It was irresistible: he needed more contact, wanted to drown into that golden, glittering consciousness, longed for a deeper knowledge and understanding. He was desperate to repeat that soul-consuming mind meld Jim himself had initiated weeks before to save him from his own pain -it had been so glorious, so powerful, so revealing.

 _Jim_. He savoured the name silently, gloating in thinking that this human -this brave, compassionate human- trusted him, wanted them to be close, like family. _Jim_.

Jim who never resented him for being Vulcan, Jim who never demanded he be something other than himself, Jim who was always there, Jim who would never leave him behind, Jim who would stop at nothing so he would be saved. Jim was someone who would die for him and someone he was prepared to die for.

Jim was… he was everything. He was _t'hy'la_.

Friend, brother, lover, life-long companion, soulmate, the only perfect fit -the one who would be his, the one who would complete him.

His _t'hy'la_.

It was not to be; it could not be.

Jim was not his, did not belong to him.

He was _t'hy'la_ , but he wasn't _his_.

How _ironic_.

* * *

 _AN: Alright, I really hoped you liked it! Spock's glass is, as usual, half-empty, but I think it would be natural for him (for the half-breed who doesn't seem to fit anywhere) to think he does not deserve a chance to happiness. And we all know Jim's a womanizer... The probabilities of him falling for his First Officer must be very, very low... But I guess he'll defy expectations, won't he?_

 _Thank you for following, faving, and leaving reviews! You make my day!_

 _Live long and prosper :3_


	4. Chapter 4 Winter Cold

_I'm still alive! I had to think this chapter through -they're going to have a fight and it's not something I take lightly... I hope I did it right! I'm getting drunk on Star Trek infos, really, Memory Alpha has become my second home (I learned too much -far more than necessary- about Vulcans...) This story has taken a life of its own, I hadn't planned even half of this, but still it's what I like most about writing, so... Thank you guys for following! You are the Spock to my Kirk!_

 _Please enjoy!_

 ** _4_**

 ** _Winter cold_**

 _T'hy'la_. Spock turned the word around in his mind, standing behind the Captain's chair and glancing distractedly at the stars melting on the screen as they flew at warp speed. _T'hy'la_. So far, it had been his best-kept secret -terrible, shaming, enticing, it filled his waking hours, weaving itself in the once-clear pattern of his thoughts, shattering them, changing them to a point where the whole of his mindscape became unrecognizable, shifting in order to accommodate this terrifying truth, going so far as to render any kind of meditation useless.

 _T'hy'la_. He could feel the human's close proximity, feel the golden chanting of his concentration, feel the warmth surrounding him, feel his heart beating and his breath escaping his mouth in soft puffs as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation of their next away mission, and he wanted so desperately to reach out and _touch_ him, even with just the tip of a finger… _T'hy'la_.

He had never been this aware of another's existence -yet here Jim was, existing in the same space he did, and it was enough to tilt his world on a dizzying axis and make his nerves shiver and tingle with a sense of impatient excitement and yearning coming from the very depths of his _Katra_. Everything was new and foreign to him, dangerously so, and he could not find it in him to collect himself and stop his staring. Spock was confused -he could not even name the twisting, gutting need threatening to overwhelm him. Was he in love? He had loved Nyota before, but it had been exceedingly different, for he had loved her gently, softly, from a distance, in a tentative manner that betrayed his inexperience and spoke of hesitance, awkwardness even; he had loved her all wrong, this he knew, and though she had been passionate and earnest in demonstrating her feelings, he had treated her more as one would a sister than a lover.

It was his only reference -his only significant relationship- to compare his current predicament to, and yet he found there were no common aspects, no shared points between the warm regard he had had -and in a way held still- for the brave, cunning Lieutenant, and the unnamed, instinctual force that drove him towards his Captain, moved him to seek his gaze and his presence and his laughter and his approval.

He stepped back firmly, suppressing his ridiculous urges, bitter satisfaction colouring his mind at having conquered them once more; he sat down at his assigned position, allowing a blank expression to settle upon his face before he stole a glance at Kirk. He was watching him, probably trying to read his eyes, searching them for emotion, or lack thereof. He found nothing, just the subtle raising of a dark eyebrow, and he gave up quite soon (he held his gaze for 12.64 seconds, as opposed to the last time, when it had taken him 25.01 seconds to surrender, and the first of his 55 attempts, when he had sat still for two full minutes. It seemed that he would, eventually, let him be. The Vulcan wasn't sure whether the thought disturbed or relieved him.)

It had been precisely fifteen days since he had woken up in sickbay to a growling Doctor and Jim's thankful smile; his hand was bandaged still, mostly to discourage him from using it for more demanding tasks than simply holding a PADD or tricorder, and his wary behaviour around his Captain had yet to soften -he couldn't help it, even though he was undoubtedly making a great effort to act as if nothing had changed. It was… frustrating at best to know what he knew and be forced to feign ignorance: Jim was _t'hy'la_ , but he was not _t'hy'la_ to Jim. He was his friend, and Spock would not risk such precious, unhoped for friendship for anything, especially considering that the probabilities of his feelings -because he _had_ _feelings_ and could _not_ deny them further- being requited were less than point zero seven percent. Thus he kept his distance in a polite, reserved sort of way that only served to aggravate Kirk's suspicions that _something_ had happened.

It was a rather unpleasant situation. He avoided his Captain so he would not have to face direct questions which he would have to answer sincerely, since _Vulcans do not lie_ and friendship was rooted on trust and it would be unwise to break that trust just because he was embarrassed. He was emotionally compromised, and it was mortifying to suddenly come to terms with the fact that his logic failed him utterly and completely when confronted with James Tiberius Kirk. He required time to adjust to his new position. It was a necessity.

Silently, he reverted all of his attention to the beeping instruments.

Jim's affronted -if not downright hurt- expression went entirely unnoticed on him.

* * *

As illogical as it was to celebrate a birthday party or to partake in such an event, Spock found he could not easily turn down his Captain's request without being offensive, and thus he allowed himself to be half led, half dragged to the recreation room, where a considerable number of humans were gathered to participate in Lieutenant Sulu's twenty-eight birthday.

One hour, twenty-three minutes and seventeen seconds later, the Vulcan was thoroughly regretting his decision as he stood with his back brushing the cold white wall and he engaged in the all too human activity of being a wallflower. A drink sat untouched in his left hand (the bandage-free one), where Kirk had dumped it before he left to dance; he had, in fact, invited him to join, but his reply had been simple: he had never learned how to dance, and he had no one to dance with anyway. The man had been somewhat upset, and for once had accepted his refusal without dispute, turning his back on him and disappearing amid the cheering crowd.

It was at times like this that Spock felt exactly how foreign that world was to him, how far he was from the same humans he had the presumption to call family -he did not belong, would not belong, could not belong. He wondered if it was logical of him to keep trying.

His eyes scanned the room in search of something to do other than be an unnoticed spectator: he did not particularly approve of that unbecoming trashing about (a poor excuse for dancing) going on in the middle of the room, nor did he feel any more inclined to consume alcohol, but there were also groups of people standing still (as still as a human could ever be) and chattering animatedly. He thought perhaps he might join.

He spotted Lieutenant Sulu first (due to his great interest in botany and his collected disposition, he was Spock's favourite, aside from the Captain, of course) but found he was quite busy twirling slowly, watched closely by ensign Chekov, who was happily taking pictures with a 21st Century camera, which was sure to end up being Kirk's.

The Vulcan let his gaze drift over to were Doctor McCoy was hunching in a corner, almost crouching so he could grumpily pat the shoulder of a rather distressed young nurse with blonde hair and clear eyes (Nurse Chapel, if memory served). Cringing internally, Spock looked away from the crying woman, trusting the CMO's abilities to _cheer her up_ , and turned to once again stare at the Captain, having given up his pursuit of Uhura and Scotty, who seemed to have vanished and were nowhere to be found.

Kirk was slumped against the wall, laughing a little louder than usual, and in his arms was Carol Marcus. _Carol Marcus_. Her fingers were sliding up and down his chest while she smiled wide, flashing white teeth and swaying her hips from time to time. _Carol Marcus_.

Carol Marcus, of all people? He knew Jim devoted himself to the conquest of as many females as he could, and he also seemed to have a preference for multiple partners, yet this…

Jealousy was a disgustingly shallow and vile emotion, and still he revelled in it, hiding it from everyone but himself, seeking to analyse and understand it; he was sickened by what he saw, however he was utterly incapable of tearing his eyes away from the woman's hand, now entwined with his Captain's. _Carol Marcus_. She was undoubtedly attractive, she was voluptuous, she was smart, she was a Science Officer… He hissed under his breath -Jim was _t'hy'la_. Jim was _his_. Why was he not his? Why could she touch him, and he could not?

Suddenly he was almost overwhelmed by the urge to leave -he had no wish to know how far they would go, he had no wish to witness. His presence would not, by any means, be missed, so he had no qualms in subtly sliding through the open door and into the blissfully empty corridor; he walked straight towards the turbolift, heading for his quarters and a full-night session of meditation. He was stopped by a hand on his arm and he immediately turned to find himself face to face with the same human he was currently fleeing from. He was surprised, both that he should notice his absence and that he should choose to follow him; desperate to hide his inner turmoil, he composed his expression in a mask of polite Vulcan indifference: "Captain."

"What is it? Why are you leaving?" Jim asked, ignoring the frozen tint of his voice. He did, though, let go of him as if scorched by the touch.

"Nothing of significance, sir," Spock answered, adding a silent _'for you'_ in his mind so that he would not be saying a complete lie. "Please, you were otherwise engaged. Do not let yourself be distracted from your lovely companion by me." He wasn't sure if he had managed to keep the slight accusation from his tone, and he entered the turbolift swiftly, hoping to discourage the Captain from his pursuit.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" the human growled, stepping inside and crossing his arms to stare at him. So stubborn.

"Negative, sir."

Kirk bared his teeth at him in utter frustration: "Will you tell me why, then?"

"I cannot, sir."

"Dammit, Spock! You've been avoiding me for fifteen days! Fifteen-fucking-days! What have I done to you to deserve this?" He seemed to be genuinely concerned -after all, he was his friend, was he not? His friend who fancied Carol Marcus.

"Nothing, sir." Spock clasped his hands behind his back and fell into pace beside his Captain, who was staring into the void. "Believe me, sir, it was not my intention to elicit an emotional response from you. I meant no harm."

"Elicit an emotional response? Is that what you call it, now?" raged Kirk, pointing at him and stabbing his chest with a fingertip: "I'm angry! I'm furious! I'm pissed off! And I _don't understand_! If your Vulcan ego would care to offer an explanation to this illogical human…!"

The First Officer blinked, but his cold façade didn't waver for a second, a glass wall shielding him from the frightening outbursts of emotion bubbling just underneath the frozen surface. "What is it that requires an explanation, Captain?"

Jim took a deep, steadying breath: "Why did you leave?"

"You were with Carol Marcus." Spock met his sparkling blue eyes with a cold glare devoid of all feeling. "I deemed my presence unnecessary."

"So what if I was with Carol?" Kirk snarled, "What's between the two of you, anyway?"

Was the Captain possessive towards the woman? "I do not like her."

"Wow, that's _news_ , Spock, you not liking someone!" Jim ran a hand through his golden hair, mussing it unconsciously, and the Vulcan followed the gesture, caught in longing and wishful thinking; as soon as he realised what he had been doing, he retreated further behind his shell of indifference. "It is not news. I have never made a secret of my dislike for her."

"Whatever. You're avoiding me, right?" Kirk demanded, taking another step towards him. Too close… too tempting… Spock stepped back. "I want the truth, Spock, not Vulcan deceit! Are you or are you not avoiding me?"

"I…" There was no way around it, now, was there? "Affirmative."

He watched as the human paled, let his arms fall, bit his lower lip. " _Why_?"

"I am emotionally compromised." Truthful answer if incomplete.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean!?" Kirk's fury was mounting again, his cheeks were flushed red -such an endearing colour- blue irises sharp, hard. "Why is it even wrong?"

"I am a Vulcan," Spock almost chanted: the amount of times he had repeated that simple sentence like a mantra, like a charm, willing it to be real and true and absolute, was bordering on ludicrous. "Vulcans do not feel." _And if they do, they conceal._

"That's bullshit!" Jim laughed bitterly, and he hated that bitter edge with all of his being. "You know as well as I do that's a lie!"

"Vulcans do not lie." He was beginning to sound like a computer. "Vulcans do not lie."

" _Liar_." That one word hit him with all the force of slap in the face. "We're _friends_ , Spock! I'm your friend! Is it such a crime that I see the emotion you hide?"

The Science Officer was at a loss on what to say: _we are not friends, you are_ t'hy'la _; I do not think it a crime that you know how I feel; I cannot tell you the truth; I wish to apologise…_ His Vulcan training kicked in, forcing another pre-formed sentence through his clenched teeth: "Vulcans do not have a need for friendship."

Jim gave him a wounded look -so sincere, so open, so exposed. "But you're not. You're not fully Vulcan. Don't you see? You're human, too!" He shook his head: "You're human, why do you keep denying it?"

"I am shamed by my human heritage," Spock confessed, looking down at his pale reflection on the floor, "It prevents me from achieving peace of mind. I have been considering…"

The Captain cut him short, pushing hard against his chest: "You're ridiculous! I feel sorry for you! Yes, I, illogical human, _feel sorry_ for you!"

The Vulcan removed himself from his _friend_ 's grasp and finished what he had started to say: "I have been considering undergoing the _Kolinhar_ to purge myself of all emotion." True: he was emotionally unbalanced, and his shields were far from being perfectly functional; even though he had repaired them thanks to his Captain's intervention, he had found they were infinitely less solid than before the destruction of Vulcan, or before Khan. Kolinhar was sure to be a way to rid himself from all those inner forces threatening to destabilise him further.

"Kolinhar…" Jim mouthed, ashen, disbelieving. "What the _fuck_ , Spock?" He was screaming now, and his anger was echoed by the empty halls, bouncing from wall to wall, surrounding the Vulcan, who recoiled. "Are you serious? You want to -what? Turn into a computer? It's logical, isn't it?"

"It is," he murmured, hanging his head. "It is the only logical option."

"No, it's not! It's not! You don't _have_ to be Vulcan! Why are you doing this? Do you think they'll like you better? Do you think they'll forget you aren't a pureblood?" Kirk laughed again, this time _at_ him: "Well I've got news for you! They won't! They'll treat you like shit the same as they did before, and you know why? Because they're a bunch of stuck up _superior_ beings!" He seemed to be fighting the urge to spit in his face or perhaps punch him. "Because they're Vulcans, and they wouldn't know compassion if it danced naked on their nose!"

Spock was flabbergasted. He had not predicted so strong a reaction, and he really, really, really wished he hadn't mentioned Kolinhar at all; a part of him was busy wondering why he agreed wholeheartedly with everything the human had said. "What would you have me do, Captain?"

"You know what! I don't care! I'm _sick_ of buying your unemotional shit! You don't lie, you don't laugh, you don't have fun, you don't _feel_ , you don't, you don't, you don't!" He sucked in a deep breath and turned his back on him, stomping away to his own quarters. The Vulcan, as usual, shadowed his every step. "I tried! I tried so hard, but I've had enough! Do the Kolinhar! Go! Get brainwashed! Turn into a perfect Vulcan!" His eyes narrowed as he looked at his First Officer in disgust: "I don't _care_! Just do it where I can't see you!"

"I… do not understand." He didn't. He honestly didn't.

"You want to be the perfect Vulcan, fine, you can!" He entered his code so the door to his quarters opened, and added: "But stay away from me." He said so slowly, coldly, and Spock froze as the door slammed shut.

He stood there uncomprehendingly for 4.37 minutes, replaying the conversation in his mind in a vain attempt at understanding when exactly it had gone so terribly wrong. He felt sick. _T'hy'la_ …

That word made no sense. No sense at all.

Abruptly, he spun around on his feet and fled, walking through a daze; he had no idea where he was going, he simply felt the need to put as much distance between himself and the Captain, between himself and the human's burning emotions. He was vaguely aware of his surroundings, and it was only when someone clapped his shoulder that he realised he was heading towards sickbay. "Oi, Spider Vulcan! What brings you here? Are you sick? Did Jimmy give you something funny to drink? The idiot…"

Spock cocked his head to the side, focusing on McCoy, who was now regarding him with puzzled worry; the nurse was gone. He distantly noticed that he, too, had blue eyes, but they were darker, more severe, the opposite of those of his _t'hy'la_. "Doctor," he said, following the human into his office and sitting as soon as he was given permission.

"What haunts you, Spock? You look like crap." Bones slumped down on the nearest chair, leaning towards him, the better to look at his face: "You're pale, even for a Vulcan."

"Doctor. It appears I have…" The Vulcan shivered infinitesimally, and a minuscule crease popped into existence between his slanted eyebrows. "I have managed to make Captain Kirk hate me."

To his great surprise and displeasure, McCoy burst out laughing: "Jim? Hate you? You're kidding, right?"

"I believe I am not, Doctor. He does despise me." A brief pause, a small breath, then he continued: "He requested that I stay away from him."

Perhaps the CMO sensed his hurt and bewilderment, because he sobered quickly and placed a hand softly on his forearm: "Well, what have you done? Did you kill someone?"

"I did no such thing," muttered Spock, not quite annoyed but surely a little bothered by his continuous joking. "I am unsure as to why he was so angered at me. I mentioned Kolinhar…"

"Kolinhar?!" McCoy recoiled from the very word, eyes widening in shock, "Surely you don't mean to undergo Kolinhar?"

"It is an option," the Vulcan admitted, wary, hoping the Doctor wouldn't react as badly as his Captain.

"Well no wonder! No wonder Jim's mad at you!" Leonard sighed, long and deep, for once keeping his emotions in check in favour of helping the clearly troubled Vulcan. "Look, Spock, you can't tell him you want to kill your very soul and expect him to jump for joy at that."

"Kill my very soul…? You do not understand…" But he wasn't that convinced -he had never been.

"Don't I?" It was a rhetorical question. "Listen. Jimmy… he'd do just about anything to save your Vulcan ass. He's head over heels for you green-blooded idiot!" He frowned, staring him in the eye as he desperately tried to avert his gaze. "You're his First. Don't you do this to him. Please. Just don't."

"What does it mean 'head over heels for me'? Surely it cannot be interpreted literally?"

McCoy was about to explain when a general communication filled the room, and they both fell silent, listening: " _This is Captain Kirk speaking. Admiral Komak requested we begin our mission immediately instead of tomorrow: I'm sorry, guys, but the party's over. Everybody return to their assigned positions and wait for new order. I will beam down to make first contact with the people of Ktero VI in twenty minutes. Ensign Giotto, you and six other security officers will accompany me. Be ready. Mister Spock, wherever you are, you have the conn. Kirk out_."

"That idiot." Leonard grimaced in sympathy, then the Vulcan, looking painstakingly dejected, hurried away to the bridge. The Captain's chair was chilly.

* * *

They knew something had gone terribly wrong when only Ensign Giotto and a young security officer beamed back up. His report was short and clipped: the small city they were meant to visit had been almost entirely demolished by a generous group of Klingons, who had then ambushed them; the Captain had acted as a diversion and ordered an immediate withdrawal. He was captured.

Spock was on his feet at once; quickly, he rounded on Uhura: "Why have we not sensed their ship? You reported the condition of your instruments to be functional precisely 2.34 days ago."

The Lieutenant shifted in her seat to send him a hard look, admonishing him not to lose his cool in the face of his Captain's possible demise -she didn't need to: his blood was ice-cold, and so was his mind. "My instruments are in perfect condition, sir," she said confidently, "The Klingons must be hiding somewhere, or causing a disturbance. I will work on locating the ship."

"Very well." Spock turned towards the Russian boy waiting for instructions: "You will help the Lieutenant in locating the ship. It is imperative that we do so, and remember: the longer Captain Kirk stays captured, the lesser are his chances of survival."

"Yes, sir!" Chekov jumped up directly and went to crouch next to Nyota, muttering calculations under his breath. "I believe _zey_ are using a shield, sir!" he announced.

"Mr Sulu," the Vulcan called, nodding curtly: "As soon as the ship is located, you will set a course to trap it between the Enterprise and the planet. We must not be identified by their scanners."

"Consider it done, sir! I am planning all likely courses at the time!" The helmsman's fingers were flying over his console.

"Contact Mr Scott if necessary," Spock added, thinking quickly. "I shall do so. Mr Scott!" He bent down on the speaker, a plan already forming in his mind: "Can you locate the Captain?"

"Aye, sir!" came the thick Scottish accent, "I'm afraid we _cannae_ risk beaming him up, though, the transporters are not yet fully enhanced -we would put his life in great danger, sir!"

"Noted."

"Captain! We have them!" Uhura straightened up in her chair. "We're holding on to their signal by a thread- shall I hail them, sir?"

"Please, do." The Vulcan walked to stand in front of the wide screens, hands clasped behind his painfully straight back, expression unreadable. "On screen."

A rough, growling voice filled the room as an image began to form for all of Alpha crew to see: a Klingon woman with battered skin and wide green eyes stared at them, an air of superiority painted on her sharp features. "We are torturing your Captain," she declared, smirking smugly and exposing crooked teeth.

"I am aware." Spock said flatly.

"You must be the Vulcan," she continued in barely acceptable Standard, "You want the human back alive. I want to know Earth's defence codes." Her eyebrows went up, highlighting her ridged forehead. "Do we have a deal?"

"That is unacceptable." The acting Captain raised his hand brusquely, addressing his communications officer: "Lieutenant Uhura: cut all communications." At that point, before she could successfully suspend the signal, he added, as if speaking to Sulu: "We shall return to Starfleet…" The screen went blank, and only then did the Vulcan finish his sentence: "As soon as Captain Kirk is back on board. Mister Sulu! Set a course to Starfleet's nearest outpost; proceed in that direction at Warp 2 for precisely 10.55 minutes, then revert course and ambush the Klingon ship at Warp 6. You will render it useless and inflict permanent damage." A sharp glare crossed his dark eyes for half a second: "Do not kill them: we will take prisoners. I am quite positive they are not obeying direct orders from the High Council, but we cannot risk starting a war."

"Aye sir!"

"Lieutenant Uhura: distract their ship, create as many disturbances as your instruments allow, be sure they believe we are fleeing with defective engines. Employ whatever language pleases you." Spock walked quickly to the turbolift, "I shall rescue the Captain. Mister Chekov, you have the conn."

* * *

"I have located the Captain, sir, but the area they keep him in has been shielded." Scotty grimaced at the Vulcan as he readied himself for transport: "I can beam you down, then it's up to you."

"Understood. How wide is the shielded area?"

"About… 400 feet at most!"

"Very well. Be ready for immediate beam up, Mister Scott. Doctor McCoy: I believe you already have sickbay prepared, but I strongly advise you to wait here. The Captain might require immediate medications."

"Don't worry. I've got it covered."

Spock nodded. "Energise!"

He found himself in the dungeons of what had once been some sort of palace, standing in front of a long line of cells. Angry shouts surrounded him immediately, but he paid them no notice as he set his phaser on kill and shot. Some strange, blissful calm had descended upon him, and it seemed to him as if the world was clearer, sharper -it was moving slower, or perhaps he was going faster. The air was wet and thick around him; he was walking on a stone pavement, and each step he took formed a resounding echo that was captured by the dull walls; here and there, tiny drops of red blood were visible; the smells of ashes, fire, sweat and burnt flesh danced through his nostrils; he was breathing evenly, lips parted as he raced to the end of the corridor; all this and more was carefully catalogued inside his brain only to be discarded: one thing mattered, and it was freeing the Captain.

His _t'hy'la_ would suffer no longer.

He was, for the second time in his life, driven by the urge -no, the _desire_ \- to kill; yet he found this was an entirely new experience, for if during his desperate pursuit of Khan he had been boiling with such heated hatred it was almost feverish, he realised now that everything in him was freezing: merciless winter snow had settled deep within his soul, bringing an icy chill in its wake that spurred him to action, adding a darker edge to his vision for every crimson droplet he saw, for every snarling Klingon blocking his path.

Spock took life after life without so much as blinking -the perfect killing machine, heartless, unemotional, poised- he murdered in cold blood; so frozen it almost burned. It was war -maybe, but there was no reason for him not to simply _stun_ : that would have served his purposes just as well, still he shot, accurate, unforgiving, lethal, aiming straight for the heart, leaving no room for mistakes.

Some part of him was even _rejoicing_ in the slaughter. It was not solely a matter of defending his t'hy'la, he who had tried to teach him that being _Spock, just Spock_ , was more than acceptable, it was right. There was so much more than mere protectiveness. These were the creatures who had slain countless of innocent beings and laid waste to their unknowing land: the city was no more; the people were no more; the children were no more; the culture was no more; it was a crime to be harshly punished, a crime that deserved only death as reward. These were Klingons.

His perception of time altered somehow, it was as if humble minutes were suddenly dilating to resemble hours, gracing him with hard awareness so foreign it was almost distracting. Almost. Eventually he reached the end of the corridor, the cell where his Captain was held captive; the guard required strangling -by then, the Vulcan was covered in a sickly mixture of green and purplish blood, but he hardly cared, so focused he was on his task. A loud metal shriek, a decisive tearing motion, and the bars fell shattered at his feet. He was inside in a flash, fingers roaming frantically on soft human flesh as he cradled his friend's head in his hands. His chest was heaving, he was breathing, he was alive, he was…

"T'hy'la." Spock gathered his limp body in his arms, staring in cold horror at the signs torture had left on the once golden skin -dark, flowing red was everywhere, tinting even his vision… He could smell it all too clearly, and it gave him a rush of adrenaline as he broke into a run, flying like an arrow through the emptied corridor, dark boots sinking in slime and the nauseating fruits of his cruel carnage; yet his eyes were warm as they trailed anxiously over the familiar features of the beloved face, too warm to belong in that place, in that scene.

The half-unconscious human gave a pained moan, and he whispered softly -a drop of gentle affection in the middle of crude bloodshed and suffering and ire: "I shall return you home, Captain."

But the Captain lay unmoving in his iron grip, and he hastened his pace.

 _T'hy'la!_

* * *

 _More AN: I realise this is a bit of a cliffhanger, and I apologise, but I felt it had to end like this! Anyway, next chapter will be last! I can guarantee a happily ever after, so stay tuned and don't give up on me yet!_

 _On Carol Marcus: I really liked her character in The wrath of Khan, but I really, really didn't like her in the reboot; plus, Spock has been plainly jealous of her for the whole movie, so I figured she would make quite a poor impression if portrayed through his Vulcan-possessive-my-t'hy'la-is-mine eyes, and she's also a little drunk._

 _On Spock fighting the Klingons: I thought Spock deserved a chance to show just how deadly he can be if he really wants to; he is a complex character, and I feel like he has changed greatly from TOS to AOS: he is younger, and the early death of his mother and the disappearance of Vulcan were a bit of trial for him -come on, they made him cry twice in two films! (I mean, it was great when he cried for Kirk in Into Darkness, and it is understandable that he should cry for the death of Spock Prime in Beyond, but this only serves to prove just how emotionally compromised and fragile he has become). All of this to say: he needs to kick some ass and right things up in a more Kirkian way, at least this once!_

 _Well, this was unexpectedly long! I hope you liked this new chapter, thank you for following me here and let me know what you think!_

 _Live long and prosper_


	5. Chapter 5 Golden Summer

_AN: That's it! The last chapter, where (hopefully) everything will fall into place! School's sort of crazy right now (my last year, I can't believe it!) so it took me a little longer to finish here, and I wanted to take my time with it (a hurried ending is never good…). So… enjoy, and thank you all for following me till now and giving this story a chance!_

 ** _5_**

 ** _Golden summer_**

Upon beaming back up on the Enterprise, Spock had no choice but to entrust his _t'hy'la_ 's safety to the Doctor; McCoy had been waiting impatiently for them, and he quickly took hold of the human's unmoving body, dragging him all the way to sickbay with the aid of a nurse -he was silent for the whole ordeal, _too damn worried_ for his friend to even begin to describe just what kind of a huge idiot he was. The Vulcan, albeit reluctant to part from Jim, knew his duty and knew it well: they were currently about to engage the enemy ship, and they were in need of a leader.

"Mister Scott, please divert as much power as possible to shields," he ordered, without so much as pausing as he flew directly to the bridge: "Casualties are not an option!"

"Yes, sir!" He heard the Chief Engineer scurrying away, followed by his faithful -if mischievous- shadow Keenser. "I'll see to it She's well protected, sir!"

"Mister Sulu!" Spock made it to the Captain's chair in record time (3.76 minutes to cross the entire ship) and fixed his gaze on the screens, where the Klingon vessel was in full view; if he noticed the half-horrified looks his bloodied appearance gained him, he paid them no mind. "Status report."

"Their shields are still up, sir," the helmsman replied promptly, "But we've damaged their warp coil injectors and one of their wings is almost gone, sir! A few more shots and…"

Chekov interrupted him, spinning around in his chair to give Spock a frantic look: " _Zey_ 're firing at us!"

"Be ready for imminent collision! Shields 100%, engage seatbelts." The Vulcan braced himself, and less than a second later the Enterprise violently shook, sounding an alarm in lower decks. "Arm and be ready to fire Photon Torpedoes, Mister Sulu!" Quickly, he opened a connection to Engineering: "Mister Scott, damage report."

"Nothing too serious, sir!" came Scott's most welcome answer, "We might have a wee problem with achieving Warp 6 to 7, but it's nothing to be concerned of. No casualties."

"Outstanding, Mister Scott. Keep feeding the shields. Bridge, out." Spock gave the order to fire and addressed Uhura: "Lieutenant, hail their ship. I believe their only logical option would be surrendering, and it is advisable we offer them the possibility. Keep firing steadily, Mister Sulu."

Green eyes and a snarl filled the screens, and Spock examined the dreadful state in which the Klingon vessel found itself: "As you can well see," he said, leaving no room for the woman to speak first, and pointing at the purple stains of blood on his once blue shirt, "I have disposed of your forces planet-side and returned my Captain home. Your ship is damaged in numerous vital points; we have rendered your engines impracticable and your life-support systems are in precarious conditions. Surrender, and your lives shall be spared."

She uttered what was surely a Klingon insult (Uhura flinched and hissed under her breath, outraged), then bared her crooked teeth in a pained grin: " _Never_." A low, beeping sound could be heard behind the thick layer of crashing metal and sizzling explosions. Spock raised an eyebrow, his mind working at the speed of light to catalogue it. "I'll see you dead first," was all the woman growled, then she cut communications and was gone.

The fraction of a second passed in silence as Sulu kept firing heavily and Chekov -who had taken the Vulcan's usual position at the consoles- ran scan after scan of the enemy's situation.

Then Spock's eyes widened infinitesimally (an undetectable change only for Nyota to recognise) and he broke the focused quiet that had formed on the bridge: "Mister Sulu! Mister Chekov!" His voice was sharp, his tone demanding. "Evasive manoeuvres, _now_!"

Until that moment, he had never fully appreciated just how competent and prepared his colleagues were, for as soon as they entered Warp 3 and vacated the area, the Klingon ship exploded in a cloud of dark smoke, sending debris flying everywhere for miles. " _Zey_ blew up _zeir_ ship just to kill us…" The Russian boy flopped down into his chair, relief washing over his face as he unclenched his unconscious grip on the computers.

"That's Klingons for you," muttered Sulu, shaking his head with a faint smirk, almond-shaped eyes bright with adrenaline. "What is it she said?" He asked Uhura. She frowned at him in mock irritation: "Do you really want me to tell you?" she challenged, stretching a little.

The Vulcan rose abruptly, terribly aware of his savage and dishevelled state: "Please set course back to Ktero VI, for our mission is not yet accomplished. I shall report to sickbay; Doctor McCoy will want to examine me. Mister Sulu, you have the conn."

He left without another word.

* * *

Leonard had a few Hypos ready for him when he cautiously approached the bed where his Captain lay, checking his vitals with increasing worry. He made a move as if to sit by the human's side, but McCoy grabbed his arm steadily and steered him towards another bed, inviting him to _Gently stay put and lemme do my business, you fool_.

"What is his condition?" Spock asked, ignoring the tricorder the Doctor was running all over him and turning to keep his eyes on Jim.

"He's recovering," Bones assured him, shooting a Hypo on his wrist before gingerly picking up his formerly injured hand and looking down at it as if it was carrier of some unknown, monstrous disease. "You blasted idiot," he hissed angrily as he undid the bandage to inspect the fragile tendons and green-tinted fingers, "Do you have a death wish? Don't you give a damn about your valuable hand?"

"I care about Jim's life more. It is my specific duty to preserve it." The Vulcan said coldly. "How is he, Doctor?"

"He had three broken ribs, wounds scattered all over his arms and back, two minor burns and a concussion." He sighed deeply, letting go of his patient so he could get up. "I fixed him all right, but he's in a coma."

Spock hovered a finger over Kirk's cheek, contemplating possibilities. "What are the odds of him waking up?"

"Honestly?" McCoy scanned his friend once more with his tricorder for a better diagnosis: "I can't tell. It could be in a few hours, in a week, a month, or never." In spite of his clear anxiety, he kept a very professional stance, collected demeanour coupled with a straight back: that was no time to _lose his shit_ , and he knew it all too well. He was a doctor. "I can try a few things, but I'd rather wait until tomorrow. I can promise you -I'll fight for his life till I breathe."

"I do not doubt that, Doctor," Spock murmured, reaching out to ghost a hand over his shoulder in a pale imitation of the human gesture. "Do I have your permission to execute a mind-meld to assert brain damage and perhaps rouse him?" He returned his fingers just above Jim's face -he could feel his warm breath caress his skin.

"You want to pick in his mind?" The CMO seemed wary: he'd never been able to trust Vulcan healing as completely as Kirk did.

"Please, Leonard. It might be the only way to save him." His earnest gaze captured the Doctor's eyes, and he shrugged, nodding his permission: "Just do it."

At once, the Science Officer leaned down on his Captain, placing both hands firmly on his psi-points, foreheads almost touching. "My mind to your mind… My thoughts to your thoughts…" he whispered, allowing himself to be captured by the depths of his _t'hy'la_ 's very soul.

He saw what they did to him, saw the torture, saw he had attempted an escape but to no avail, saw him as he spat on his jailor's face, uttering proud, confident words; he heard the sounds of his screaming, heard his panting breaths as he fought to keep himself together, heard the dull thud of the prison wall against the back of his head; he felt his quiet resignation as he realised he had to let them take him or they would all die, there were too many Klingons, he had killed five out of thirty, _there were too many_ ; he felt his need, his burning desire to _protect the crew, I must protect the crew, they are my responsibility!_ He felt his courage, his strength. _T'hy'la…_

He pulled away from the stream of memories, reaching, calling…

 _Jim._

 _Wake up, Jim._

It was wonderful -Kirk's mind was an amazing place to be in, golden and vibrant and warm, so safe, so accepting it was humbling… _Open your eyes, Jim, come back!_

Slowly, he guided him towards full consciousness, and watched as a fire of sharp awareness lit the human brain, gracing it with bright colours.

 _'Spock?'_

 _Jim. Wake up, Jim._

 _'…Alright.'_

The Vulcan withdrew from the meld, and, even as the Captain blinked dazedly, eyelashes brushing his cheeks and mouth curving into an uncomfortable line, he fled the room. _"But stay away from me."_

"Jim!" McCoy grasped his young friend's trembling hands and smiled, a genuine, frown-free smile, full of happiness and gratitude. "Thank God, Jim! How do you feel?"

"Spock?" Kirk called softly, trying to get up only to be held down firmly by a rapidly aggravated Doctor. "Spock's turned tail. Running from you, I take it?"

Spock marched directly into his own quarters, willing his mind to be silent and still and possibly cease its unendurable musings. One by one, he peeled off his unrecognisable clothes, tossing them carelessly on the floor (cleaning himself was the priority, and order, as much as it soothed him, could wait) until he was completely naked; he slid into the bathroom, turning the shower on as soon as he got in.

For all of his Vulcan heritage, he actually did enjoy the feeling of water running up and down his body, and was quite happy to simply stand under the small stream, eyes closed, face upturned, and let it purge him of his strain; bit by bit, the tension in his muscles eased, washed away to be replaced with blissful warmth -it was his secret pleasure, one he very rarely indulged in, because it was the umpteenth reminder of just how _different_ he was from his very people. It was the small, seemingly insignificant details, more than anything else, that told him: _you belong nowhere_.

His breathing slowed as white, sweet-smelling soap replaced purple and green blood, covering his pale skin in a thin translucent sheen that felt deceptively like redemption. He had killed so many. There was no reason behind his actions, there had never been -everything he'd ever known had failed him, over and over and over. His beliefs, he found, were faulty when he had deemed them irrefutable. His _logic_ had failed him -one could only suppress emotion, not really eradicate it, and it was dangerous, highly so, especially considering his double, conflicted nature. _Surak_ had failed him -there was no law of his to teach him a way to survive trapped between two different worlds that acknowledged and respected one half of him, not the other, not both. The _humans_ had failed him -they were too blind, they refused to see, refused to understand, choosing to perceive him the way they expected him to be, not the way he was. And Jim… Jim had rejected him.

He was alone, and yet, he had always been, nothing had changed.

Perhaps Kolinhar really was the only available option.

McCoy called for him fifteen point six-oh-nine minutes later, voice tinted with annoyance and resigned compliance: "He wants to see you," he declared out of the blue, "He wants to see you and he won't stay put till he does and since I don't think sedating him right now is a good thing, you will come down this instant and talk to him. Am I understood? Doctor's orders."

"Very well. I'm on my way." Dreading what was to come, Spock composed himself to show a serenity he had never known and returned to sickbay; but when he arrived, Jim had drifted off into a deep sleep, one arm extended to secure his pillow in a weird embrace, and there was no way Leonard would allow him to disturb him -nor did he feel so inclined.

"I'm sorry. I guess I should have known…" The CMO gave his best friend a fond look, stroking his damp golden hair like an elder brother would have done. "Did I interrupt your meditation?"

The Vulcan shook his head. "No."

"Spock, will you take a piece of advice from an illogical human?" McCoy asked abruptly, raising his chin to meet his eyes.

"That depends," Spock conceded.

"Rest. You need it, and deserve it, too. You saved the day -saved the Captain. You fulfilled your duty -now, I can see you're burning with guilt and are very inclined to drown in your unemotional misery, but, really, just let it go."

"I murdered for the sake of vengeance."

"You killed a few Klingons who had demolished a city and tortured Jim."

"The intentions behind…"

"Don't matter shit in this instance." Leonard was serious, much more so than usual: "Take a rest. Uhura can beam down planet-side and talk to the natives, you don't have to. Rest a little, ok?" He offered him a small, self-conscious smile, "And this is not the Doctor speaking. It is your friend."

"Thank you, Leonard. I understand."

"Good. Now off to sleep, Spider Vulcan."

* * *

All in all, Spock ended up accompanying Uhura to meet the people of Ktero VI to offer condolences and assistance. She watched him carefully during the whole ordeal -he was silent, much more so than usual, eyes blank and devoid of his typical spark of amusement or even curiosity, posture stiff and jaw set, slightly so, but enough to be noticed. She had the urge to talk to him, ask him if she could help, comfort him somehow, yet she didn't, knowing full well such attentions would only hurt his Vulcan ego, for they meant she had noticed something was wrong because he had let it slip behind his scarcely kept cold composure. She was fairly sure it had a lot to do with James Tiberius Kirk, as was predictable -she recalled the fact that the Captain hadn't wanted his First Officer planet-side and decided they had likely gotten into some kind of terrible argument after Sulu's birthday party.

She sighed. _Could they be more obvious than this?_

The people welcomed them wholeheartedly, with many expressions of gratitude and mirth, long lilac fingers sliding across their arms in greeting; they brought no gifts, only wishes of good health and joy, and Uhura was more than happy to reciprocate, smiling sweetly and eagerly answering all their questions concerning Starfleet and the Federation. The meeting was _most successful_ , to say it with the Vulcans, and _totally awesome_ , to use some of Kirk's favourite vernacular.

They parted on good terms, sealing an agreement, and the mission was finally over.

"You are he who killed the intruders?" The young Chief Diplomat asked Spock before the two officers could leave; she had eyes like water, ever changing, full of respect and empathy: "We thank you for purging our land of their evil."

The Vulcan looked for a moment as if he wanted to reject her statement, fight it, but in the end he kept quiet, bowed a little. That's when Nyota decided she needed to have a chat with the Captain.

She found him in sickbay, staring morosely at the white ceiling with a mutinous air about him that was sure to cost him at least a Hypo, eyebrows scrunched together and lips stretched in a tight line. She went to sit on a chair by his side. "Well, Kirk," she said, going straight to the point, "What have you done this time?"

Jim frowned at her: "What do you mean, 'what have I done'? What do you know?"

Uhura shook her head, placed a hand on his shoulder: "I'm worried about Spock. He's having trouble with his emotions: he's struggling, much more than he should be, he seems to be hurting and confused, you know, _lost_." Her warm voice was soft and full of genuine concern.

"And what do you suppose I can do?" Kirk hissed, already defensive to hide the guilt gnawing at his stomach, "You're the one who dumped him!"

"Oh, please, Kirk, give it a rest!" Nyota's eyes flashed with irritation, but she suppressed it quickly, focusing on her self-imposed mission: "Why do you think I broke up with him? Because I was tired of his Vulcan issues?" She snorted dismissively, grimacing, "I was, but that's not it." A rueful smile painted her face in sorrowful colours, and she added gently: "He loves you, don't you see? You."

Blue eyes widened and the Captain's face lit up immediately, yet it took him less than a second to suppress his surging emotions and clear his throat: "But that's… impossible. Not only impossible -it's _highly illogical_. I'm not… good enough."

Uhura rolled her eyes at him, reminding herself that patience was the greatest of virtues: "And since when love is logical? Don't be an idiot, Kirk. Just do something and do it quick, before it's too late!"

"You don't understand. I was a total ass. I screwed up, ok?" Jim whined openly, picking up his pillow to hide his face in it; he spoke through the thick layer of fabric: "He wants to get brainwashed by a bunch of computers -Kolinhar, get it? I told him I didn't care but _I do_. I don't want to see him like that - _like them_."

"Oh, Kirk. You got it all wrong." The communications officer patted the grey pillowcase, forcing down a laughter, "Talk to him. Apologise. He'll forgive you. And he'll forget Kolinhar."

The Captain dropped the pillow on the floor but his eyes stayed shut. "I can't face him. I can't."

"Why not?" She rested her chin in the palm of her hand and gave him a very earnest look: "Spock dotes over you. He'd probably dance the tango if you asked him to."

The blonde huffed, trying to erase from his mind the image of Spock dancing to _La Cumparsita_ , and he sat on the bed, brushing his feet on the cool floor. "Even if I believed he loves me -which I don't- I'm pretty sure he hates me now."

"You didn't see him before -he was drenched in Klingon blood -he slaughtered thirty Klingons without so much as blinking and as for the rest, they blew up their ship." Uhura bit her lower lip, moving her chair to allow room for her Captain. "Spock killed. For you. He did it for you."

"He did?" Jim was awed -and disturbed, and worried. He stood up a little dizzily, eyes darting nervously to the closed door of McCoy's Office - _Oh, God, let him be asleep!_ \- then he grasped Uhura's shoulders, holding tight: "Distract the Doctor, please? Thank you. I owe you one!"

He started to leave, but she grabbed his hand, letting a small envelope fall on his palm: "You owe me two. Go, now."

* * *

Observation Deck 6 was silent and dark when Jim walked through the door half an hour later. He spotted the Vulcan sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around his legs, staring at the stars without really seeing them; he didn't turn as he approached him, though he could undoubtedly hear his light footsteps, his rapidly beating heart. _God, how on earth could I do this to him?_

"Do you wish for me to leave?" Spock asked coldly -yet in his frozen, inexpressive tone of voice there was a clear abyss of hurt and sadness, one that made Kirk's chest tighten painfully and his hands itch with the need to wrap themselves around him and crush him into a comforting embrace. He dropped down next to him, just inches apart, and held out a steaming cup, waiting for his First Officer to catch it between his fingers. "I made you tea. Uhura said you liked this one best."

Spock's eyes found his face, searching, questioning, begging. Slowly, he pressed his lips to the hem of the cup and took a sip, then another, and the stiff line of his mouth softened a little. "I find this brand to be most agreeable. Thank you."

"I'm sorry," Jim murmured, touching his wrist with a fingertip, "I'm so very sorry. Most of what I said was ugly and uncalled for. I didn't mean it. I was a jerk. I should have known better than to yell at you like that -I should have tried to understand." He sighed, fidgeted, sighed again. "I really, really don't want you to leave. I am sorry. _Ni'droi'ik nar-tor_. Please?"

The Vulcan shook his head minutely, turned towards him, crossed his legs; his unfeeling façade melted away like snow in springtime as he saw just how remorseful his Captain was. "Jim, there is nothing to forgive. None of what you said was untrue." He set the cup between them -an offer of peace, of understanding?- and folded his hands together, watching them as he spoke: "You called me a liar, which I am: when I say I do not feel, indeed I lie; it is not a problem to me if you do see that I have emotions, but the fact remains that you should not."

"Spock-"

"I do not _have_ to be fully Vulcan, yet I still endeavour to; it is only natural that one should experience the need to belong somewhere. I cannot be human: ever since I was a child I found human beings most puzzling and unpredictable. Being Vulcan is all I know, all I have ever learned to be, all I have ever been taught to want. I am aware it must come to be a nuisance for you, however…"

"Spock." Jim raised his voice a little, interrupting him before he could get too far carried away. "Spock. I don't have a problem with you being Vulcan." He got up, utterly unable to keep still for more than a few minutes, and started pacing in front of his friend, who threw his head back to look him in the eyes. "It doesn't bother me that you try and be the perfect Vulcan. Most of the time. It only bothers me when it bothers you."

"Jim, I… I'm afraid I don't understand."

Kirk kneeled in front of him, watching him seriously: "Spock, do you understand why I was so angry at you? Why I said I don't care? It's because I do care, a lot, and it drives me crazy to see just how much you don't. You don't give a damn about yourself, Spock, do you?" He spoke in a gentle whisper, and his eyes were soft and thoughtful, entirely focused on him. "Don't you realise just how special and unique you are?"

"I do. I am the only living experimental half breed in existence." The corners of his mouth turned slightly downwards: "I belong nowhere."

"You belong here," Jim said firmly. Tentatively, he brushed a hand across the Vulcan's arm, glad to notice he was leaning into his touch. "Spock. Would it be so bad if you, for once, chose to be yourself? Chose to be both human and Vulcan?"

Spock took a deep breath, inching closer to his friend, his _t'hy'la_ , wondering if he should tell him of his affections. _That would be unwise. He doesn't want you, will never want you, could never want you._

"I do not know."

Jim smiled gently: "Well, that's better than just 'no'." Growing bold, he reached down to grasp the Vulcan's hand, his delicate smile turning into a smug grin as he heard Spock's sharp intake of breath and saw the faint green blush dusting his pale cheeks. He brought their fingers together, palm to palm, examining the difference between their complexions with fond amusement. "You strive so hard to change what you are," he reasoned, "You shouldn't. There is no need for you to be different: you belong here."

"Jim…" He faltered and shivered as the human released his hand to offer him his first and middle fingers in a silent invitation. "Jim - _t'hy'la_ \- do you… are you aware of…?" Could he be deceiving himself into thinking James was offering…?

Kirk nodded: "This is the _ozh'esta_ , the finger embrace. Won't you try it, _t'hy'la_?"

 _T'hy'la. How I cherish thee._

"Am I to deduce I had made a mistake in believing you did not feel any romantic attachment towards me?" Spock asked, perhaps a little awkwardly, wanting -needing- to be sure.

Jim smirked: "To quote you… 'indeed you are'." Their fingers met in a fleeting motion, dancing together, entwining. "Does this mean I can kiss you?" Kirk demanded, closing the distance between them so that their foreheads brushed; his free hand went up to tenderly stroke the Vulcan's velvet hair, and Spock closed his eyes, feeling content: "I believe you may, Jim."

And kiss they did. It was like summer -a golden summer: like bathing in a sea of gold and breathing golden air and staring at a golden sun and drinking golden chocolate and… Spock panted and looked at his Captain, his friend, his everything, and saw the love and care for the first time evident in his eyes of sky, and he smiled, a real smile, one that showed teeth and dimples in his cheeks and filled Jim's heart in joy and his mind in wonder.

"You fascinate me so, Jim," the Commander confessed, sliding a finger up and down his palm in a soothing, rhythmical motion. Kirk's answering grin was nearly blinding.

"So will you tell me why Kolinhar now?"

The Vulcan pulled up a little, straightening his posture, and once again folded his hands, even as his friend -his lover- plastered himself to his side. "I am… damaged, Jim," he answered truthfully, "My mind is disturbed. I cannot conciliate my two warring halves as well as I used to, and my self-control is thinning daily. Kolinhar is… the best way to regain peace," he sighed -a pale huff, almost inaudible. "Though I am conflicted, for I do not wish to purge myself of all emotions, _t'hy'la_. It would be… I believe it would be betraying my mother's memory. And my own human part."

Jim shifted so he could caress his cheeks, thumbs running across his high cheekbones in a warm, affectionate way that made his skin tingle. "Let me help," he murmured, "Let me put your mind at ease. Meld with me, Spock."

" _Ashayam_ ," he whispered softly, feeling a surge of pride and possessiveness at finally being able to call him _beloved_ aloud, "I do not wish to inflict my troubles upon you."

"Of course you don't," Kirk replied knowingly, "I am _t'hy'la_ to you. But you are _t'hy'la_ to me, too, and I _will_ help you."

"As always, James, your suggestions are quite illogical and impulsive," Spock chided, pulling at a strand of golden hair.

"Meld with me, you obnoxious, stubborn Vulcan. I know you're dying to." A merry laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls, reaching for the stars just outside the glass panel. In a gesture that was not entirely new, the Captain guided his hand to brush one side of his face.

"Very well, Jim. If you are so convinced." Spock gave in good-naturedly, knowing full well he was right, and dipped his chin on Kirk's shoulder, breathing in his very human scent. "My mind to your mind…" he almost chanted, "My thoughts… to your thoughts…"

The meld was soul-deep and all-consuming; their minds recognised each other, welcomed each other, complementary and thirsting for more. At first it was just a fleeting touch, a hesitant whisper testing the waters, instantly enflaming to become a fire, a raging storm, seeking a deeper knowledge, a fuller contact, until the meld was complete, and they were One. Memories fluttered around like fallen leaves, following a choreography more complex and gratifying than anything else they'd ever experienced.

The moon rose infinite times over Iowa's wild landscape, and a white, burning sun melted into Vulcan's crimson deserts repeatedly, and a palomino horse was running alongside a fierce sehlat, and a dark, starry sky stretched endlessly above them, still and safe yet ever-changing.

Their lives danced past them as their souls were laid bare for the other to see, touch, cherish, understand; like a cat lazily napping after a meal, their joined consciousness stirred and twisted and rolled, bright with the colours of their emotions, sparkling delightedly as they tasted each other's love and devotion.

 _…_ _Fascinating_.

 _'Think so, Spock?'_

 _Indeed._

' _There's nothing wrong with your mind, t'hy'la.'_

 _That is because I am keeping it under control, ashayam._

 _'Lower your shields, then, tal-kam, let me see.'_

Vulcan emotions were a strong, mysterious, raging force, something very few were prepared or equipped to deal with; Jim had already handled grief quite impressively, and once he had fallen prey to burning anger, but to be suddenly submerged by wave after wave of chocking, demanding feeling… it was an entirely different matter. _I fear for you, t'hy'la_. Spock's thought caressed his mind gently, cradling it even, with reverence, adoration and concern. _You are not meant to endure this struggle_.

His vigilant presence was enough for Jim to hold on to, and he navigated the sea of sentiments easily, entrusting his own safety to his companion, as he so often did. ' _How come?'_

 _It is unbecoming. These… passions… are inappropriate and disdainful. It is what I strive so hard to conceal._

 _'Why is it you are ashamed?'_

 _How could I not be? What I carry within myself is unworthy of a Vulcan, it is the proof that I am not he whom I am supposed to be. See for yourself, ashayam._

 _'Spock, it's part of you. You must accept it: if you don't, you'll only suffer. Believe me, I know. I know what it's like to feel ugly and evil and worthless. You know me -you've seen me the way I was before, you've seen my memories. Do you think I am unworthy?'_

 _Jim… It is different. You have changed: you have grown. You have become a most amazing man, Jim, you have exceeded all expectations, you have become… everything._

 _'You are kind, honest, loyal, fearless. It's what you are. And you hurt, envy, rage, hate. It's what you are. Nobody's gonna put you on the stake for this.'_

 _Are you not repelled by what you see?_

 _'Just breathe, Spock. That's the solution to all your problems. Breathe.'_

 _You keep presenting simple breathing as a solution, Jim. I do not understand._

 _'That's the point, Spock. If you don't understand how and why you feel, if you don't understand your emotions, then how can you expect to control and conquer them?'_

 _Perhaps there is some logic in what you say._

 _'Accept emotion. Welcome it. Only then you'll get rid of it, if you wish. It's part of you. And you are special and unique and perfect -the good side… and the bad side, too.'_

 _You believe that._

 _'I do, ashayam.'_

And then there was peace. A long-lost dream, a luxury he hadn't thought he deserved or would ever obtain, a wonderful gift bestowed by this one, amazing creature that now lay in his arms (for they had fallen on the floor at some point during the meld), carefully running his fingers through his hair. Spock closed his eyes and savoured the quiet, satisfying acceptance which slithered slowly from one mind to the other, tenderly mending wounds neither of them knew existed.

Never would he have believed that being this exposed, this vulnerable in front of another person could be such a fascinating, changing experience; never had he even dared to hope he would encounter somebody who would be his friend, his confidant, his beloved.

His _t'hy'la_.

Jim sighed softly, stretched a little. "You don't suppose we could sneak in to the bridge without Bones noticing, do you?" he whispered, looking guilty.

"I calculate the chances of you escaping the Doctor's watch to be very poor, Jim," the Vulcan warned, pulling him closer. "Maybe I will return you to sickbay, sooner or later."

A very human chuckle surrounded him, warming him from the inside. " _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular_ , Spock."

Spock smiled his ghost of a smile, then placed a feather-like kiss on his _t'hy'la_ 's forehead. "And I love you, Jim."

* * *

 _I won't turn around_

 _Let it all slip away_

 _I'm never backing down_

 _Cause tomorrow's a new day_

 _And everything can change_

 _And After all that we've been through_

 _And after all we left in pieces_

 _I still believe our lives have just begun_

 _Cause now the past can be outrun_

 _And I know you are the reason_

 _I still believe the best is yet to come_

 _-Red _ Best is yet to come_

* * *

 _AN: Whew! Officially over! This went well, I think! Have I mentioned that I love Uhura? She's too great, so brave and accomplished!_

 _Hope you people liked the ending (most difficult part, really) and that you'll leave a sign of your presence :3_

 _Live long and prosper!_


End file.
